


Pragmatism

by raspberrycoffeecake



Series: Pragmatism [1]
Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alarkling - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Darknikolina, F/M, I have no excuse for this, M/M, Multi, Nikolalarkling, Nikolina - Freeform, Political Marriage, Sturmling, Threesome - F/M/M, Uneasy Allies, dom darkling undertones, peace at any cost, power ot3, whatever the ship name is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2019-08-25 19:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16666981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberrycoffeecake/pseuds/raspberrycoffeecake
Summary: The Darkling’s gaze meets his in challenge. Alina’s eyes fly wide open in panic for a few seconds, before they half-close again in pleasure.“Lantsov,” the Darkling remarks conversationally, “how good of you to join us.”Alina, Nikolai, and the Darkling come to an agreement.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by teeth by ignitesthestars. After reading, I suddenly couldn't rest until I created my own version of this hot mess of an OT3. Enjoy!

He’s not completely sure what inspires him to ask.

Perhaps it’s the way her face somehow looks softer tonight, as if all of the council meetings and training and responsibility are wearing her down. Perhaps it’s the fact that, despite her exhaustion, she exudes confidence in a way she hadn’t only a few months ago, the last time he saw her in person. She has grown into a leader, and he is unhappy to find he now longs for more than just her raw power.

So he looks up from where he - or rather, his projection - sits on his former bed, still made up in black, to where she sits at his desk, making her way through stacks of paperwork.

And he asks, simply, “What would it take, to convince you to stop fighting me?”

She doesn’t take him seriously, at first. He doesn’t expect her to. She lets out a mirthless laugh, and fixes him with a fierce glare. “Stop killing innocent people, and stop threatening my friends, to start with.”

He examines her face for a moment, then nods. He can accept those terms. He has no need for further demonstrations of his power, at least for the time being, and as much as he despises her tracker, he is willing to set aside that vendetta for a more satisfying prize.

“What else?”

She stares at him, as if she can’t believe he is acquiescing so easily. Which is only fair, he considers - he’s never actually asked her what she wants. It’s always been his will imposed onto hers. But if he actually wants a partner to rule beside him, then perhaps his strategy up until now has been flawed.

Finally, she speaks, and although her voice is strong, the tiny hitch as she begins signals to him that she’s not completely sure of her answer. When she actually voices it, the reason for her hesitation is clear.

“Support Nikolai as king.”

His first impulse, of course, is to refuse. Put the Lantsov bastard on the throne? The whole point of his machinations over the last half-year - half-century, for that matter - was to erase that family from Ravka entirely and finally take power himself, as the country’s rightful king.

Then again, he has centuries to achieve his goals, and if granting her this concession makes her more willing to deal with him, then it might be worth it.

But first, he needs to know- “Why?” He knows she hasn’t yet begun to think in the kind of time scale he has been in for the last several centuries, but why latch onto this particular fool?

Her eyes narrow, as if she is finding firmer footing in this part of the conversation. “He’s brilliant, and a natural leader. He wants what’s best for Ravka, and he has ideas that will bring us into the future.” She pauses, then continues in a lower voice, “And the people see you as a tyrant. If you seized power right now, they would revolt, and Ravka would be thrown into civil war. Nikolai is royal. They would accept him.”

He might argue with her definition of “royal,” and he would certainly argue with her conclusion that the peasants fearing him means they would rise up against him. But overall her logic is reasonable, and she is revealing more of her thoughts to him now than she often does.

So he nods again. “If you have so much faith in him, then I’d like to meet him.”

She visibly stiffens.

He smirks in response, and clarifies, “Tomorrow. Bring him here. He won’t be able to see me, but if he’s touching you, I should be able to see and hear him. If this is truly your demand, then I’d like to see him for myself before I decide whether to agree.”

She’s silent for a long moment, and he studies her. Is it because she doesn’t trust him not to somehow turn this to his advantage? Or because she fears having to actually tell someone else about their strange connection? Regardless, he finds himself pleased that his response is throwing her off balance.

Then, finally, she nods. Satisfied, he allows his likeness to fade, leaving her alone for the night.

***

The Darkling doesn’t immediately recognize the Lantsov boy. It’s only once they’ve been speaking for several minutes that the prince’s voice and general features finally connect in his memory. Of course the boy’s Grisha would have altered his appearance so he wouldn’t risk recognition. The Darkling knows that Sturmhond - or the prince, he corrects himself - must have had some powerful Heartrenders with him on his ship, if Ivan’s long recovery from their mutiny was any indication.

And with that realization, the Darkling finds that, despite himself, his respect for the pretty boy in front of him has grown.

The prince’s hand grasps Alina’s possessively, as if he has already staked some claim to her. And she allows him to hold her hand, but there’s no answering claim. It’s obvious that whatever lies between them has none of the depth of affection he has seen in her bond with the tracker, so he feels no jealousy. In a few decades, this prince will be gone, and Alina will belong to the Darkling entirely. That isn’t so long to wait, especially if it means she will come to him willingly.

He’s surprised at how carefully the prince seems to listen to what he conveys through Alina. The boy is obviously practiced at deception, but his expression actually seems contemplative when Alina passes on the Darkling’s words.

Not that the Darkling is revealing much. That isn’t the point of this meeting. The point is to feel this prince out, to get a feel for how malleable he is.

And the answer seems to be, not very. Which should be a sign to the Darkling that it’s time to shut these negotiations down and return to plotting his attack on Os Alta. But as the minutes pass by, he finds himself oddly drawn to this boy, this ot’kazatsya whose life is barely a drop in the deep well that is the Darkling’s long life. He finds himself wondering what it might be like to have someone competent on the throne. Someone who might challenge him. He’s surprised to find the idea oddly appealing.

He’s weighing whether this might actually work when he finally asks the question that he has been waiting to pose since Alina brought up the prince last night. The question that will determine the potential of this alliance.

“Do you plan to kill the king and the crown prince? Or would you prefer my nichevo’ya do the deed for you?”

When Alina relays the message to him, a grimace of disgust on her face, Nikolai’s expression turns hard. Although his gaze can’t quite find the Darkling in the room, the prince’s reaction is nonetheless clear.

“No one will be killing my family.”

The Darkling raises an eyebrow, and Alina responds with a glare. “Then how,” he says through her again, “do you propose to take the throne? I will not negotiate an alliance while the current king still occupies the throne, and I certainly have no interest in serving under your useless excuse for a brother.”

The prince’s expression regains its casual mask of vague amusement. “I will take care of that. If you come to Os Alta in peace, then I can guarantee that I will be the one you find sitting on the throne.”

***

The Darkling is not foolish enough to imagine that the Little Palace and the remnants of the First Army aren’t still preparing to go to war against him. He sees it in the creases around Alina’s eyes when she comes to bed at night.

He doesn’t touch her, but he visits her often, reminding her of what she might stand to gain with this deal - and what she risks if she doesn’t follow through with it.

Eventually, Nikolai insists on meeting him in person. The Darkling acquiesces easily enough, without fear of double-dealing - after all, they both know that the only reason Nikolai is considering this deal in the first place is because the palace won’t stand a chance against the Darkling’s forces in battle. If the prince is foolish enough to try something at this meeting, he’ll quickly regret it.

Alina, perhaps wisely, does not come. They agree to meet in the back room of a dingy tavern a few miles outside Os Alta. Just the two of them, although Ivan and a few other reliable Grisha are concealed within earshot, and the Darkling assumes that the Lantsov boy has taken similar precautions.

The Darkling is sitting in a quiet corner, his usual black kefta replaced by a plain brown coat, his cup of tea still warm from the samovar, when Nikolai walks in. Whichever of the prince’s Grisha has been Tailoring him must have been at work tonight. And yet, even without his regal nose and cheekbones, and the force of his celebrity, he has an air of confidence that sets him apart from the rest of the room. The Darkling is struck by the unusual sense that he is working with someone who may actually turn out to be worthy of his time.

The younger prince comes over, a tankard in his hand, and sits across from the Darkling, his long legs stretched out in front of him, as if he hopes that taking up as much physical space as possible will intimidate his companion. The Darkling leans back in his own seat and smirks.

“Well,” he begins, “you wanted to meet with me in person. Here I am.”

Nikolai leans forward and clasps his hands on his knees, looking at the Darkling intently. “There are a few things I’d like to discuss between the two of us - without Alina acting as intermediary.”

The Darkling raises an eyebrow.

The prince continues, “Assuming she agrees, I intend to make Alina my queen.”

The Darkling isn’t especially surprised. It’s the wisest move for a royal in a politically weak position to make. He suspects the only reason the Lantsov boy hasn’t publicly announced the connection yet is that Alina hasn’t been receptive to his advances. He can easily guess the reason for her reluctance, and in that sense, it seems that he and the prince are allies. He suspects that the prince wants the tracker gone as much as he does. So, although his instinct is to argue, it’s ultimately not in his interest. He will have plenty of time to claim his Sun Summoner as his own, if this alliance goes according to plan.

He shrugs. “Fine.”

The prince’s expression turns skeptical. “You’re not going to fight me on this?”

The Darkling laces his fingers together, taking advantage of the centuries of practice he’s had at ensuring that his expression gives away none of his emotions. “Why should I?”

Nikolai leans back again, his eyes never leaving the Darkling’s. “No reason, apparently.”

There is a pause. Then the Darkling remarks, keeping his voice as toneless as possible, “I assume you don’t intend for the tracker to stay at the palace after the wedding?”

The prince’s face is just as expressionless as the Darkling’s. The Grisha is forced to admit that this man is a skilled politician. “I don’t intend to take any action on that matter without first consulting our Sun Summoner.”

The Darkling is tempted to laugh. Alina will, of course, be loath to give up her tracker’s company, but if the prince has any interest in marriage to her, beyond its political uses - or if he wants to avoid the spread of unfavorable rumors - then he will find a way to convince her to give up her ot’kazatsya lover.

Yes. It appears that the prince will do very well as an ally, at least for the time being.

***

There’s no going back now, Alina thinks as she prepares to sleep in her- no, she reminds herself, the Darkling’s bed - for the last time before she moves into her own rooms in the Grand Palace.

Genya quietly returned to the palace last week, and it was only a few hours after Nikolai threatened to use her testimony to expose his father that the King and Queen were spotted in the Kingfisher, departing the palace for a comfortable, but very permanent, exile. Soon after, the Darkling’s agents in Fjerda cleverly turned evidence of the older prince’s dealings with the Fjerdan crown into evidence of treason, forcing him into exile as well.

And Mal is on his way to Ryevost by now, money in his pocket and a promise of land to farm and hunt on. She can understand why he left without a word to her, but the fact that he could just walk out of her life without even a goodbye makes her want to scream and throw the Darkling’s stupid possessions around this ridiculous room. She hates Mal now, even as she knows she will love him for the rest of her painfully long life.

And tomorrow, as she agreed when Nikolai presented it as the only way this plan could work, she marries him, and they are crowned as King and Queen of Ravka. The Darkling is presumably camped somewhere nearby, or perhaps even lodged in the city itself. He will be at the ceremony tomorrow, giving her away to Nikolai (in another of her soon-to-be husband’s brilliant uses of symbolism) and being installed as the new king’s chief advisor. Although Nikolai recognizes that collaborating with the Darkling will not gain him followers, he argues that the value of being publicly allied with the two most powerful Grisha in existence outweighs the drawbacks.

Everything is set for a smooth transition tomorrow, for Alina to fulfill the dreams of every little girl in Ravka: marrying a prince and becoming a queen. And yet those have never been her dreams, and those dreams she once had - of living a simple life, of settling down with Mal somewhere - will be dust.

“Alina.” His voice is so familiar to her now, she doesn’t bother to turn around. She feels her hackles rise at the idea that he would so completely disregard what he must know she is feeling and show up here. Now.

“Go away. I don’t want to see you right now.” She wants to sound haughty and dismissive, but her voice cracks on the final word, and she realizes she just sounds pathetic. Exactly the way she feels right now.

She expects him to say something cruel and unfeeling, as he always does. But he doesn’t. Instead, he says nothing, sliding his arms around her and pulling her against his chest. His hands rub up and down her arms soothingly, and she’s surprised to find this feels good. Where did this cold-hearted monster learn how to comfort someone?

When she tries to speak, he shakes his head, and instead leads her to the bed, wrapping her in his embrace and kissing her forehead as they settle in together. She knows this is wrong. He lied to her, he tried to enslave her, he used her power to kill people, he threatened the people she loves… And yet she’s finding it difficult to keep reminding herself of all the reasons she hates him, when even his phantom’s arms bring with them that perfect certainty, that perfect feeling of rightness.

Somehow she knows that he will spend the night with her, even as his body lies somewhere else. And she is surprised to find that she likes the idea.

“Stay with me?” she hears herself murmur, and she immediately scolds herself. Mal has just left for good, and she’s already cozying up to her archenemy to fill the space he left in her heart - and her bed?

But the Darkling is already responding, “Of course, Alina,” and his hands are tightening around her waist, and his lips are finding hers, and the guilt vanishes from her mind, along with all of her other objections.

***

Alina slips away from the wedding reception early. There’s only so much politics she can take, before she’s tempted to burn everyone around her to a crisp. So, seeing that her new husband is still deep in conversation with his courtiers, she makes her escape, certain that no one will notice her absence - aside perhaps from Nikolai. She prefers not to think about the fact that there’s one more person who will almost certainly take note of her departure.

Out of the corner of her eye, Alina sees Tamar peel off to follow her down the hall. She’s glad for the woman’s presence, and for the fact that she knows the Heartrender will keep a discreet distance away from her rooms tonight.

Upon her insistence, her new rooms are not the queen’s former ones, but suites in a different wing of the palace, with Nikolai’s rooms adjacent. They’re less opulent, which Alina is grateful for, and she’s glad that she at least won’t be sharing space with one set of phantoms, even as she suspects that another will continue to haunt her.

After she felt his well-muscled arm under her gloved hand as he walked her down the aisle at the ceremony, she caught sight of him lurking on the fringes of the ceremonies and receptions, talking with no one, his eyes never leaving her. It’s clear that he doesn’t see her marriage to Nikolai as an impediment to his goals.

She hasn’t been sitting at the vanity for longer than half a minute when she hears the door snick closed behind her, and sees gray eyes meet hers in the mirror. She sucks in a breath, recognizing this is the first time they’ve been alone, in the flesh, since the Bone Road.

Her voice feels small when she speaks to him. Somehow, all of this - losing Mal, marrying Nikolai, surrendering to the Darkling - has drained her will to fight, at least for now. “What are you doing here?” she finally asks.

He approaches her. She watches his hand disappear into her elaborate hairstyle, and emerge with a long, gold pin, which he lays on the dresser’s immaculate surface. Then he goes to pull out another. His other hand rubs the back of her neck, right below where the stag’s antlers still mar her flesh, and she leans into his touch, enjoying it despite herself. “You’re tense,” he finally remarks, not really answering her question. “Let me help you relax, before your husband comes for you.”

His words have their intended effect. Like a bucket of cold water dumped over her head, they remind her of what is expected of her on her wedding night. Whether Nikolai intends this to be a sham marriage or not, he certainly won’t take the risk of failing to consummate it right away. She knew that when she agreed to this, but that doesn’t take away the dread that pools in her stomach at the idea.

But if he feels her stiffen, the Darkling doesn’t pause in his work, taking pins out and combing out her hair with his fingers. He’s never touched her so casually before, not even in his phantom form, and she’s unsettled by how good his hands feel on her skin. She’s embarrassed to find herself shivering against him.

When her hair is loose, he moves his hands to her shoulders and rubs them gently. Saints, the things this man’s hands do to her.

This is not what she needs to be doing right now. She needs to be getting ready for her wedding night. With her husband. Who is currently downstairs.

She turns to tell the Darkling so, but he catches her hand, pulling her upright and around so that her back is to him. Then she can feel his fingers begin to undo the tiny buttons that run down the back of her elaborate lace gown. As he releases the first button, his fingers brush the bare skin on the back of her neck.

She schools her voice to sound calm and self-assured, although she’s fairly certain the cracks that her voice makes give her away. “I don’t need you to help me with my dress. I can call in a servant.”

His fingers stop moving.  His breath ghosts across the back of her neck, and suddenly the amplifier’s weight on her chest is almost unbearable. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

Now she’s getting annoyed. She doesn’t need him to remind her that she’s still a virgin. She spins around, out of his reach, and snaps at him, “No, I’ve never been married to a king before. I think that should be obvious. But I still don’t need your help. Go bother someone else.”

Apparently this doesn’t dissuade him, because he simply takes the opportunity to move closer to her, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek as he whispers in her ear, “I think you’ll appreciate my touch.”

Then he does something she’s not expecting at all. His mouth descends, not on her lips, but on her neck, licking and sucking and nipping and it’s all Alina can do to arch her back and expose more of her skin to him. And when he spins her around, his mouth still on her, and resumes undressing her, she finds herself forced to agree with him.

***

Nikolai is exhausted by the time he leaves the reception - exhausted from the long day, from the effort of making small talk with people he’s certain have wanted him dead at some point in the recent past, if not at present. When he gets back to his new rooms, he’s tempted to simply throw himself into bed and call it a night. Saints know Alina has probably already been asleep for hours, judging by how early she left the ballroom.

But he knows he can’t. His throne rests on ensuring that this marriage is legitimate. So he strips down to his shirt and trousers, preparing himself to face his new wife. They’re friends, he reminds himself, even if she’s angry at him right now for sending Mal away. He’ll be gentle, he’ll make sure she enjoys it, they’ll get it over with, and that will be that. At some point in the future, they’ll need to produce an heir, but that can wait a year or two. He can leave her alone in the meantime.

So he takes a deep breath, steeling himself before he opens the connecting door to his new wife’s rooms.

What he isn’t prepared to see is Alina, a thin robe open and exposing most of her body, lying in the arms of a fully clothed Darkling, moaning as he lazily circles her clit with one thumb and pinches one of her nipples with the other. The Darkling’s gaze meets his in challenge. Alina’s eyes fly wide open in panic for a few seconds, before they half-close again in pleasure.

“Lantsov,” the Darkling remarks conversationally, “how good of you to join us.”

There’s a part of him that wants to throw the Darkling out immediately, to claim his wife as his own and remove any ties the Darkling has to her. As much as this marriage is a political alliance, he can’t deny that seeing her bared in front of him is arousing his protective instincts. Not to mention arousing, period.

But he’s not an idiot. He knows that his alliance with the Darkling stands on very tenuous ground, and fighting over a woman would be an excellent way to jeopardize it. And he sees the look that darkens over Alina’s face as the Darkling resumes his ministrations, and it occurs to him that, perhaps, if the Darkling can reduce her nerves about their wedding night, then just maybe he’s serving a useful purpose. For now, at least.

And when she whimpers, “Nikolai,” at the same time the Darkling orders him to, “Get over here and fuck your wife, Lantsov,” he can’t get his remaining clothes off fast enough.

It’s a bizarre sensation, when he crawls onto the large bed and positions himself over her, that he can feel the Darkling’s trousers on his bare legs, and the Darkling’s hands brush his skin as he settles himself in. He pushes that thought aside, and focuses on his new wife.

Alina’s skin is soft on his, and he cups her face in his hand, kissing her tenderly. Just because this is his duty, doesn’t mean it has to be impersonal. Her lips are soft and pliant under his, and when she whimpers against him, he swears his cock hardens more than he thought was possible. Maybe this will be alright, after all. “Ready, darling?” he teases, and she groans, annoyed at the endearment.

But then the Darkling is growling, “Enough stalling. Hurry up and fuck her already,” and pulling Alina back against him so she’s half-sitting, her arms pinned in his.

Nikolai is ready to put his reservations aside and slap the man for his attempt to take control of their wedding night, but the Darkling’s words seem to only turn Alina on more, judging by the moan that escapes her lips.

And that sets Nikolai off. His kisses become more desperate, his hands roaming over her body with more purpose now. Then he feels her hips rise to meet his, and he barely registers that it’s the Darkling’s hands that are guiding her before he is plunging into her, and everything else fades. The only things occupying his mind now are her pleasure, and his own.

He doesn’t stop to think about whose hands are cupping his balls as he thrusts steadily into her tight pussy, or about the fact that, at some point, his lips leave Alina’s and find the Darkling’s instead, the other man’s fingers tangling in his hair as Alina sucks hard on his neck. It’s odd, to feel himself losing control so completely - he who is constantly in control, even in the bedroom.

At some point, she comes, and he doesn’t think about the fact that it was probably the Darkling’s fingers still circling around her clit that brought her to climax. He also doesn’t think about whether the Darkling’s hands on his body - they have already been roaming freely over him for a while, now - are contributing to his own rapid, hard orgasm.

All he knows, is that he falls asleep with his arms wrapped around his new wife, feeling oddly safe, given who is still occupying the bed on her other side.

He doesn’t know whether he is relieved or disappointed to find the Darkling gone when he wakes the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> 1\. In this version, the Darkling hasn't messed up Genya's face - maybe because he's still planning on using her as a bargaining chip, maybe just because we're trying to make this Darkling a LITTLE more redeemable than his canon counterpart. He did punish her, but in a less obvious way.
> 
> 2\. Ivan lives! He's the best, so he's definitely appearing in future chapters.
> 
> 3\. The hairpins thing is blatantly stolen from another ignitesthestars fic, Good Morning Midnight. It was just too good, I had to incorporate it into this. (Also go read it if you haven't! Seriously - so goooood.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back! Some internal monologuing, some adjustment to new roles at Court, and some Sturmling.

The lake is calm today. Only a slight breeze caresses Alina’s face as she sits on the bank, letting her toes dangle into the cool water. Summer is quickly racing away, and the nights are turning cool, but the days are still warm enough to make her appreciate any relief she can get from the heat.

She is mostly out of sight on this side of the lake. Her spot gives her a good vantage point for watching the grisha children in their classes on the opposite shore, observing the Squallers and Inferni that the Darkling brought back with him practicing their craft together. The sight is surreal; it’s as if the last six months had never transpired.

She wonders how her grisha are getting along with their newly returned colleagues. Are there arguments? Power plays? Or has everyone just tacitly decided to pretend they weren’t planning to kill each other just weeks ago?

Her spot is not that far from Baghra’s hut. Alina hasn’t seen the old woman since their last confrontation, and she quickly bites down the guilt that rises in her at that thought. If the old woman doesn’t want to see her, then it’s not worth expending any more energy on her.

Alina knows that someone has probably been sent to search for her. She has a tea to attend this afternoon, with some of the noblewomen of Os Alta, but she convinced Genya to overlook her escape, and so here she sits, enjoying a brief moment of freedom before the cage of royalty snaps shut around her again.

She has been married for a week, and she still feels utterly out of place, everywhere she goes. As leader of the Second Army, she was welcome at council meetings; now that she is Queen and Nikolai has a new, more powerful grisha advisor - if one with more suspect motives and loyalties - she is no longer invited. She hasn’t even set foot in the Little Palace, knowing that the Darkling has now fully reestablished his authority there. And the social events she is expected to attend as Queen are so mind-numbing and infuriating that she can barely hold herself back from incinerating everyone most of the time.

She’s barely seen Nikolai at all in the past week. She wondered if he might come to her again at night, but both he and the Darkling have stayed away. Which is, on the one hand, a blessing, since she’s still not sure how she feels about everything that happened on her wedding night. But on the other hand, the knowledge that Nikolai is choosing not to come to her makes the loneliness of her nights that much deeper.

Her only comforts are that Tamar and Tolya have not left her side - perhaps more to avoid contact with the Darkling’s Corporalki than out of loyalty to her, but she will accept it either way - and the fact that Genya is now her constant companion. Genya’s presence is mostly due to the fact that Alina is now expected to attend so many court events, she needs constant wardrobe and beauty assistance, but having the Tailor by her side is comforting, now that they are back on good terms. Mostly.

Now Tolya lingers near the trees, away from where Alina sits, giving her distance. She knows that he will come at the first sign of trouble, but for now, he is content to leave her alone. She appreciates that he can tell when she wants to think without interruption.

But her solitude doesn’t last long. A shadow falls over her, blocking some of the waning afternoon sunlight, and Alina doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is.

She expects him to speak immediately, and so she is surprised when he simply seats himself next to her, his legs tucked up under him in a pose that is completely incongruous for someone who is usually completely focused on world domination. She looks over at him, and he smiles slightly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair out of her face.

“Alina,” he murmurs, and she finds herself closing her eyes, leaning into his touch. What is wrong with her?

She forces herself to pull away, out of his reach. “What do you want?” she asks, trying to avoid sounding too hostile, but also attempting to put some space between herself and him.

“Everything, Alina.” She shudders at his bold words. “But I would be content for now if you chose to indulge my curiosity as to why you’ve decided to avoid your queenly duties and spend time on the Little Palace grounds.”

She scowls. “I wanted to see what you’ve been up to. I’m sure you’ve wasted no time rearranging everything.”

He smirks. “You certainly went about rearranging a lot of things when you came back here. Why should I not be given the same courtesy?”

For a long moment, she doesn’t answer. When she finally speaks, it’s only to give voice to the question that’s been plaguing her for the last week. “How are they?”

Somehow, he knows exactly what she’s talking about. His voice is low and sound unusually sincere when he speaks. “I took no vengeance on anyone who supported you, Alina, if that’s what you’re asking. I thought you trusted me enough when we made this deal to know that.”

She doesn’t trust him, of course - not at all. But instinctively, she knows he’s telling the truth now. He has no reason to lie to her about this.

He continues. “And I think you would be pleased to know that your new seating arrangement has survived your departure from the Little Palace.”

She stares at him. He allows the orders to continue mixing, under his command? “Why?” she is unable to hold back.

He reaches out a hand again, and caresses her cheek. She lets him. “Because you wanted it, Alina. There’s a lot I would do for you.”

His hand drifts down to where the antlers adorn her neck. He touches the skin around it, just barely avoiding the amplifier itself. His touch is gentle, exploring, not hungry the way it had been on her wedding night. She’s ashamed to find that it still makes goosebumps spring up in its wake. She’s frozen, unable to move under his touch.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving hers. “So much power in this one, small body.” He takes her wrist, turns it over, runs his forefingers on either side of the sea whip’s fetter. In his other hand, he takes her other wrist, and it feels more naked than ever. He lifts her bare wrist to his lips and kisses it.

“Do you long for the other?” His voice is barely a whisper now. “To complete the pair?”

He hits too close to home. She tears her eyes from his, tears her hand from his, and stands abruptly, pulling away from him. She grabs her shoes and takes off running, trying to put as much distance between them as she can.

***

The Darkling watches Alina’s figure dwindle away toward the Grand Palace, her large, stern-faced bodyguard following at a safe distance behind. He’s apparently already learned not to get in her way when she’s upset.

Part of him feels guilty for needling her. This part reminds him that the whole point of this scheme was to get her to trust him again, to convince her that working together might not be so bad after all. Making her annoyed at him can only get in the way of those goals. But he can’t stand it when she seems to insist on telling herself lies - lies about her feelings, lies about her power. And if it takes a little conflict to get her to acknowledge the truth, then so be it.

She’s not a bad leader, he has to admit. That much was clear when he arrived back at the Little Palace, prepared to find chaos, and instead discovered a fledgling sense of unity that hadn’t existed even under the best years of his rule. He didn’t admit as much to her, of course, but her idea of forcing the orders to mix was a brilliant move.

And he was surprised to discover how much loyalty she inspired among her soldiers. Convincing them to accept his return without resorting to bloodshed has taken most of his energy for the last few days. Not that he objects to bloodshed, of course, but grisha blood is precious. If he can avoid spilling it needlessly, he will.

Most of the grisha have returned to his side by now, happy to have someone to blindly follow again. That’s all most humans want, the Darkling has discovered over the long years of his life: they desperately need someone to tell them what to do. If they can trust in someone else, that absolves them of responsibility for their own actions, allows them to feel like they’re a part of something larger than themselves.

There are a few soldiers who haven’t fallen in line so easily, of course. Zoya, his former star pupil, has remained aloof since he returned. She’s talented, and he would prefer to keep her in his Second Army, if he can, but he won’t stand for malcontents spreading dissent among his ranks. Perhaps placing her in a trusted position - although not too trusted, of course - would bring her back in line. She will be one he has to watch.

He wonders about Alina’s Heartrender bodyguards, too. Not that he can do much about them without risking her ire, but he’s concerned that allowing two powerful grisha to live in the palace, outside the ranks of the Second Army, will spread ideas he doesn’t want spread within the Little Palace.

He looks over at Ivan, who has followed him out here. It’s not as though he can’t reinstate his oprichniki - and in fact, he intends to do so shortly - but having Ivan close is useful. The young Heartrender is observant, and is quick to share his observations with his master. The Darkling finds Ivan to be a useful source, especially in these days when he’s still teasing out who can be trusted enough to be returned to positions of power and who can’t be rehabilitated.

At his glance, Ivan silently comes over, his head tilted slightly as he awaits instruction.

“I want to learn more about the grisha Lantsov keeps with him. The two Heartrenders, in particular.”

Ivan grimaces slightly before composing himself again, and the Darkling assumes it’s because the last time the Heartrenders met, they had nearly killed each other. But he knows Ivan is a loyal soldier. He will do as he is told. The Corporalnik bows and nods his assent, before departing in the same direction Alina went.

The Darkling watches his retreating form for a moment. Then, with a deep breath to steady himself, he goes to perform the task he had originally set out to do when he walked over to this part of the grounds. He goes to meet the one person in the world he still finds terrifying.

The small hut is filled with smoke, as always. He can’t count the number of times he’s offered her luxurious rooms in the Little Palace, and the number of times she’s refused. No matter how long it’s been, it seems she still resents his success. Resents him for having achieved things she never could.

She’s alone, except for the boy who tends to her. At one look from the Darkling, the young servant scampers out, leaving Aleksander Morozova alone with his mother.

“What do you want, boy?” A promising start.

He sighs. “I came to see whether you’d changed your mind. I don’t like seeing you like this any more than I’m sure you enjoy enduring it. Won’t you consider my offer?”

She scowls. “You blinded me, Aleksander. You tortured your own mother because I wanted to keep you from getting too much power. You want me to just forgive that?”

He feels his temper rising, and digs his nails into his palms to prevent it from taking hold of him. “I told you then, and I’ll repeat it now: what I did to you is fully reversible. I can send in a Healer right now to restore your sight. All you need to do is give me your loyalty.”

When he’s said the words, his anger dissipates again, as quickly as it came, to be replaced by a yawning emptiness. She’s been physically near him for most of his long years, but she’s never once helped him. Never told him he did well. Never praised the safe place for grisha he has built here. Instead, she stays here so she can criticize him. So she can prevent him from gaining too much power. His own mother would rather remain here in obscurity - both literal and figurative - than support him.

“You know my answer to that, Aleksander.”

Her words cut through him, even though he knew they were coming. He shuts his eyes, imagining for a moment that he is small again, and his nickname - Sashenka - is rolling off her tongue as she cooks dinner in their little cabin in the woods. She was never warm, of course, but this barrier of ice hurts.

He turns and walks out, slamming the door shut behind him.

***

“You haven’t touched her.”

Nikolai starts as he puts his book aside to stare at his unexpected visitor. Yes, the Darkling was present for his wedding night - something Nikolai is still trying to avoid thinking about - but why is he now showing up in the King’s private chambers at night, unannounced? To discuss intimate matters related to Nikolai’s marriage, no less?

Nikolai schools his expression, trying to avoid showing the Darkling that he’s gotten a rise out of him. “I don’t see how that’s any business of yours.”

“Everything related to Alina is business of mine.”

Nikolai doesn’t have an immediate answer to the Darkling’s outrageous claim. Clearly, appeals to propriety, or privacy within marriage, or the King’s power over his subordinates, including his chief advisor, will not hold weight here. So finally, he decides to try to reclaim the situation with a question. “Why does it matter to you?”

The Darkling raises an eyebrow. “I worry about our lovely Queen, of course. We wouldn’t want her to feel neglected, would we?”

Now Nikolai is really losing control of his temper. Their wedding night was one thing, although utterly inappropriate, but now? The Darkling’s insinuation that he has just as much claim to Alina as her husband does? Marriage of convenience or no, Nikolai cannot simply let that slide. So he stands, prepared to send the Darkling away - bodily, if he needs to, since Nikolai is the taller and broader of the two men - when the Darkling’s hands come up to Nikolai’s face and crush Nikolai’s lips to his.

Nikolai stands there motionless for several long minutes, completely unsure how to respond, simply allowing the Darkling to plunder his mouth. This is wrong, he tells himself. He’s never been attracted to men, he’s married to a woman - and yet he can’t bring himself to push the Darkling away. The other man’s lips are so sure, so illogically soft, but also so firm, giving him no room for refusal. All of the feelings that their wedding night had brought up, and that Nikolai thought he had firmly stamped down, now come rushing back to the surface. He can’t help himself - he kisses the Darkling back, giving with as much force as he takes.

It is the Darkling who pulls away finally, an exasperating smirk on his face. One of his hands still caresses Nikolai’s cheek possessively, while the other is wrapped firmly around Nikolai’s waist.

“Let’s make one thing clear, Lantsov,” the Darkling declares, his voice ringing out in the room where, until now, the only sound has been the two men’s heavy breathing. “Regardless of official titles, both of you belong to me now. And while I am a very patient man, and at the moment I find myself willing to compromise, I do expect you to acknowledge the reality of the situation we find ourselves in.”

Nikolai growls, pulling away from the Darkling, putting some distance between himself and this impossible man. “All I know,” he counters, “is that my chief advisor is trying to involve himself in personal matters related to my marriage, which I find wildly inappropriate. Get out, before I throw you out.”

The Darkling closes the distance between them, one hand moving to the back of Nikolai’s neck while the other reaches down to the front of his breeches where, Nikolai is embarrassed to feel, his cock is straining against the cloth in response to the Darkling’s touch. The grisha smirks again as he runs his hand along Nikolai’s length. “Your body already accepts it, Nikolai,” the Darkling murmurs in his ear. “Why continue to fight?”

Then he steps back again, challenging Nikolai to make his next move.

The young King considers the situation. Why does he want what the Darkling is offering, so badly? And, more to the point, he wonders, why is the Darkling offering it? The grisha tolerates him on the throne because Alina requested it, and for some reason, her desires seem to have power over the Darkling. But why is the Darkling pursuing him? Is there something else going on here, that the young monarch hasn’t considered?

He moves his own hand to the Darkling’s head, pulling the other man’s lips down to his again. This time, the Darkling allows Nikolai to lead, and he does, more gently, taking his time, as is his usual style of seduction. Just because his current object is a hundreds-year-old monster doesn’t alter his strategy much.

When Nikolai runs his tongue over the Darkling’s lips and the other man moans softly, he thinks he has the beginnings of an answer to some of his questions. And if there’s a way to flip this to his advantage, then perhaps there’s no reason for Nikolai to reject the Darkling’s advances, even if they confuse him. Perhaps there might even be something to gain from this whole…situation.

But when Nikolai’s hand strays down to the Darkling’s chest, the Darkling pulls away. He moves his hands to frame Nikolai’s face, effectively wresting back control and examining the young king with almost overwhelming intensity.

“Why do you stay away from your wife, Lantsov?” The question is simple, direct, completely out of sync with what Nikolai’s body is feeling right now.

There’s no escaping this man, Nikolai acknowledges, so he simply tells him the truth. “We will need an heir eventually, but there’s no rush. I want to give her time to get used to her new role. I don’t want to push her too much.”

The Darkling chuckles. “I think your wife is acclimating to her new role quite well, actually. But I fear that she is lonely, without some of her…old friends nearby.” Nikolai tenses at the Darkling’s oblique mention of Mal. He could do without the reminder. “Perhaps some attention from her husband could help that. Or, I suppose, if you’re busy, I could always take care of Alina for you.”

Nikolai opens his mouth to tell the Darkling exactly what he thinks of that idea, but before he can speak, the grisha takes his lips again, and Nikolai sighs into the kiss. What has come over him, that the Darkling now has such power over his body? Never before has he ever been laid this low by his own pathetic need.

As if reading his mind, the Darkling pulls away and laughs again, trailing his hand slowly down Nikolai’s chest. “It’s not entirely your fault, Your Majesty,” he says, his tone as he says Nikolai’s title slightly mocking. “I’ve had a long time to learn a wide range of skills.”

Then, as unexpectedly as he arrived, the Darkling pushes away from Nikolai and moves to the door. “Lantsov,” he commands, his gaze skewering Nikolai, “take care of your wife, or I will.” Then the door closes, and the grisha is gone.

***

Nikolai comes to Alina’s bed that night, for the first time since their wedding night. He is gentle and sweet and patient and attentive to her needs. And she appreciates his care; she recognizes that he is a good lover. But she finds herself missing the fire that had filled him the first time they had slept together.

Rationally, she knows this is better - just the two of them, without the Darkling’s interference - but some dark part of her keeps looking around her bedroom, hoping he might be silently watching as her husband makes love to her. She still feels the ghosts of his fingers on her neck, her power reaching out to his touch.

There’s a moment when she thinks she sees something moving in the corner of the room. Nikolai stops moving inside her. He looks at her, then follows her gaze. When nothing immediately emerges from the darkness, he frowns, then kisses her again, as if he wants her to distract her from what they both know might be lurking in the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so I am definitely continuing with this story, but updates are probably going to be slow. Sorry in advance, but I hope they will be worth it when they come :)
> 
> With regard to Baghra, I know NOTHING about grisha healing, but given that they've been together for SO long, I feel like it just doesn't make sense for him to actually do permanent damage to her, no matter how angry he is. He's petty, yes - but he is also super calculating, so I feel like it makes more sense for him to inflict damage on her that is reversible - if only so that he can hold it over her later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments! You keep inspiring me to update, so thank you <3

A few days later, Nikolai announces that the monarchs will be making a trip to West Ravka. This is unprecedented; monarchs have always remained in the safety of Os Alta. They have never risked crossing the Fold, even under the most dire necessity.

Of course, they have never had Alina’s power before, either.

It’s a smart move, Alina acknowledges. Although West Ravka seemed to favor Nikolai when they were last in Kribirsk, the wealthier part of Ravka has never really been under the king’s control, as much as its merchant-nobles might pledge fealty to the crown. And the Crown has always been willing to give West Ravka space, as long as it kept goods moving through the Fold. Taking direct control of this region will likely prove more difficult than simply reestablishing residence in the palace in Os Kervo, so Nikolai is wise to begin now.

Not to mention the fact that West Ravka has also been less than stable for the last few months: the Darkling’s expansion of the Fold threw the region into a chaos that it hasn’t really recovered from, and they’ll need to restore order there if they want to have any chance of brining peace to Ravka.

For his part, the Darkling has insisted on accompanying them - whether to disconcert her or to assert his dominance or from some other motive, Alina’s not sure. But although she worries, given the current situation whether the Darkling’s presence there may end up doing more harm than good, he won’t be swayed.

As the day of their departure draws closer, Alina feels herself grow more and apprehensive about crossing the Fold in the Darkling’s company. Rationally, she knows he has no power over her amplifiers now, but she still summons as much as she can manage, within her busy schedule, to reassure herself that she will have enough power in her own hands when they make the crossing.

She hasn’t seen him up close since that day by the lake, but whenever she sees him - across the room at court events, in a crowded palace corridor - she feels his eyes on her. He wants something from her - that much is clear - and she’s a fool if she doesn’t suspect it has something to do with the Fold.

Now, as she descends the palace steps on Nikolai’s arm, the hem of her traveling gown trailing ridiculously behind her (who’s ever heard of a traveling gown you can’t walk in?) she sees him, waiting for her at the door to the carriage. Her pulse starts to race, and her skin grows tight and hot around the amplifiers, reminding her with every beat of her heart whom he claims she belongs to. His eyes meet hers, and she has the distinct sensation that he is having the exact same thought.

She is on Nikolai’s arm. There is absolutely no reason the Darkling needs to hand her into the carriage. No reason he needs to touch her at all, for that matter. But something - Alina is too distracted to see what - draws her husband’s attention, and his warm, solid bulk is moving out of reach of her hand, and she feels a cool, firm grip on her other arm.

The courtyard starts to spin as the Darkling leans in close and murmurs, “Fjerdans have been spotted on some of the main roads to the west. I told your _husband_ -” his voice is practically dripping with derision at the mention of Nikolai “-that the best way to keep our Sun Summoner safe would be if I’m riding in the carriage with you.” He pulls away from her, and she can see the self-satisfied grin on his face. “I’m sure we’ll find plenty of interesting things to talk about, among the three of us.”

Now he’s just being obnoxious. Her irritation with him makes it easier to force away the haze that his nearness is causing, and she shakes his hand off her arm. “Has someone declared war on Fjerda without my knowledge? Because the last time I checked, Fjerdans were permitted to travel freely within Ravka. Perhaps your skills would be put to better use, if you were off looking out for _actual threats_.”

It’s satisfying to see his temper flare up in his face before he quickly gets it under control again. Resuming his grip on her arm - harder now - he all but shoves her into the carriage. His voice is calm, but she can still feel the tension in his grip as he growls, “Becoming queen of Ravka has not made you any less vulnerable. There are still many out there who are trying to harm you, and I intend to keep you safe, whether you want me to or not.”

She hates that his words send a shiver through her body, though she does her best to ignore it. She forces herself to rememberthat he’s not looking out for her safety because he cares about her for her own sake - he’s still just as greedy for her power as he ever was. If there was ever a time in his life when he was capable of caring about something other than power, that time is gone now.

His eyes meet hers again as he settles onto the seat across from her, and now she swears there’s just a hint of hurt in his expression. She wonders if he really can read her thoughts - perhaps it’s just another creepy ability of his, along with summoning a shadow army and cutting people in half. Alina chooses to conveniently ignore the fact that she’s now used the Cut a number of times, too.

And she refuses to be drawn in by his attempt to guilt her, if that’s what it is. He’s manipulated her enough times now that she can see his nonsense coming a mile away.

But he won’t allow her to ignore him, either. “Alina,” he offers, his voice low, “you don’t give me much credit.”

She has to laugh at that. “At what point do you think you earned any credit from me? When you lied to me? When you tried to enslave me, kidnap me, murder my friends?” She looks away from him. She’s not having this fight right now.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him lean forward, as if he wants to argue back, defend himself, but then he seems to think better of it.

At that moment, the carriage door is thrown open and Nikolai steps in. His gaze shifts from Alina to the Darkling and back. He raises an eyebrow, then he steps aside to allow Tamar, Tolya, and to Alina’s great chagrin, Ivan, to enter and take their seats in the spacious interior. Then, just before he takes his own seat next to Alina, Nikolai raps on the carriage roof to signal the driver to take off.

***

At every stop they make on their journey to the Fold; at every ducal residence they dine or sleep at;in every town square they pass through, leaning out of the carriage to be seen by the populace, Nikolai is painfully aware of his own vulnerabilities as a ruler. The whispers, many of them about him: the long-standing rumors about his parentage, and now the new ones about how he managed to steal power away from his father and brother. The many glaring signs of how tenuous his hold on the country still is, only a few weeks since the Darkling’s machinations nearly threw it into civil war. 

And although it never bothered him before, he now sees how youthful and inexperienced he must seem to his subjects. How weak he must look, compared to the two powerful grisha at his side.

Alina is holding up well under the endless parade of social events she has been forced to attend since she became queen - and, in particular, since they embarked on this trip through the realm. But Nikolai worries that she’s starting to chafe under the stress of it all. She wasn’t born royal, after all. She’s not used to this life. And he knows from experience that when Alina is displeased, the results are often… not pleasant.

He glances at himself in the mirror he sits in front of, then moves to fasten his cufflinks and put the final touches on his ensemble for tonight’s dinner. The trip has been somewhat ad hoc up to this point, and he is now thinking that it might be wise to skip over the next few social calls and head straight for Kribirsk tomorrow. He can tell that the Fold is weighing heavily on Alina’s mind on this trip for some reason he can’t quite decipher, and he imagines that delaying their arrival will only make the anticipation worse for her.

The door opens behind him, and Nikolai nearly groans when he catches sight of his visitor’s reflection. Does this man just get off on creeping around and showing up uninvited?

“What do you want?” Nikolai makes his tone as even and as bored as he can. After their last encounter, the last thing Nikolai needs is for this man to think he’s made him weak.

“You’re planning to push ahead to Kribirsk tomorrow.” It isn’t a question.

“What makes you think that?” Nikolai tries to keep his voice even and not let on that he finds the question unsettling. No reason to give the Darkling any more power than he already has.

“I overheard you asking the coach driver about the distance. I inferred.”

Nikolai curses his own carelessness. The Darkling already knows enough as it is. There’s no reason to feed him additional information out of his own failure to take precautions.

The Darkling sidles closer, and his hands fall onto Nikolai’s shoulders. Despite himself, Nikolai finds himself leaning into the grisha’s touch.

But he hasn’t forgotten that the Darkling just showed up here out of nowhere. He presumably has some reason for this visit, other than just to unsettle the young king. “So you’ve discovered my plans. Are you here to praise me or to censor me?”

The Darkling shrugs, and his fingers dig into Nikolai’s neck possessively - not so hard as to be painful, but enough that the intention can’t be mistaken. “Neither. Simply curious whether you’ve thought about what you’ll do if Alina freezes.”

Nikolai raises an eyebrow at the Darkling in the mirror. “She was guiding shipments across the Fold just a few months ago. What makes you think she’ll panic this time?”

“We both know Alina isn’t the same woman she was a few months ago.” The words are cryptic, and Nikolai decides not to push further. If the Darkling wants to make his meaning known, Nikolai has no doubt that he will.

The Darkling’s hands leave Nikolai’s neck, and he schools his expression to avoid giving the grisha any more indication than absolutely necessary of the effect he has on the king.He pushes away the thought that he might have enjoyed the Darkling’s touch.

“I trust Alina,” Nikolai finally says, his fingers returning to their work of fastening his cuffs. “If she thinks she can handle the passage, then she can.”

“You place a great deal of confidence in others, Lantsov. I hope, for your sake, that it is merited.” Then, with a swish of a black kefta, the door swings closed, and the Darkling is gone again.

***

Alina can’t sleep, with the Fold so close. All of the warm furs and lush bedding that have been provided to her in her own section of the king’s tent can’t keep her from shivering at the thought of entering it again, with its creator by her side.

The memories of the last time they were here together whirl endlessly around Alina’s head until she feels dizzy: the feeling of his hands wrenching her magic out of her, the feeling of utter helplessness as his cruelty forced her to leave Mal as prey for the volcra. The night before, when she begged for his mercy, for Mal’s life, and he threw it back in her face.That couldn’t have been more than a few feet away from where she lies now.

She reminds herself, over and over, that she is not who she was then. She can summon immense power, and if he crosses her, she can always leave him stranded in the Fold, with no one but his nichevo’ya for company. But the thought still doesn’t soothe her.

Nikolai is probably asleep elsewhere in the large tent, and she’s not certain she wants his company right now, anyways. He would be reassuring, certainly, but he wouldn’t be able to comprehend the blind panic that overtakes her at the thought of being vulnerable to the Darkling’s power. His sympathy would be benign at best, and he might raise questions she isn’t prepared to answer.

It’s odd, then, that when she pads outside the tent and finds the Darkling leaning outside the entrance to his own tent, she finds his presence comforting. Perhaps the idea of him is more frightening than the actual man himself, slim and average height and not especially threatening in visage. Or perhaps having him close at hand is better than not knowing where he is and what he might be up to.

Regardless, she finds herself drawn to him. She sits on the ground, halfway between their two tents, and he gracefully arranges himself next to her. They’re silent for a while, both of them listening to the muted sounds from the town and the unnatural quiet that drifts off the Fold.

“I wish you hadn’t gone after us in Novyi Zem.” It’s not what she intended to say, but Alina realizes immediately that it's what was on her mind. The future she could have had, her and Mal, if he hadn’t violently ripped it away from her. The many times over the last year that he could have just left her alone. That he could have allowed her to just live, and be better off without him.

He doesn’t touch her, but it’s as if she can feel his thoughts hovering over her, gently prodding as he tries to assess her mood. “You gave me no choice, Alina. You know that.”

Her response is soft. “You always had a choice. You just chose power.”

Another beat of silence, and a shiver racks Alina’s body. It’s as if the Fold knows she is coming to battle it tomorrow.

Immediately, the Darkling’s arms wrap around her shoulders and pull her in close to him. She leans into him - she has no will to resist him at this point. She’s not even sure if she wants to.

“Alina,” he whispers, his hand moving to caress the amplifier at her neck, “we were created for each other. The sooner you stop fighting that, the easier everything will be.”

She turns to look at him, the need to slap him and the desire to reach up and kiss him suddenly warring in her. Her eyes fall to his lips, full and soft and inviting. But she can’t give in to him like this. Not when it would be a surrender, an admission that he owns her, rather than a mutual, equal sharing of passion.

That thought gives her the will to push him away. She stands, shaking off his touch, then glares down at him. “You mean that I was created for you? As long as you believe that, that you own me, then I can’t stop fighting you. I won't.” Then she turns and goes back inside the tent where her husband presumably sleeps peacefully, trying to drive all thoughts of the Darkling’s touch out of her mind.

***

This time, more than it ever has, the Fold feels like him. It smells like him, tastes like him. He’s standing all the way at the other end of their skiff, but it’s as if he’s just a foot away, his hand reaching out to her. It’s soothing and disturbing and utterly uncomfortable all at the same time, and Alina’s hands keep moving of their own accord to her neck and her wrist, itching at the skin beneath the amplifiers, where it grows hot and chafes against her. Her body and her magic are responding to his presence in a way that both confuses and excites her.

Nikolai’s hand tightens on hers. He seems to sense her unease, and she appreciates his concern, but it does little to cool her burning flesh.

The crossing is quiet. The volcra seem to understand now that Alina is a threat, and they keep out of the halo of light she casts around the skiff. It’s safe, Alina reminds herself. The Darkling is staying away from her. She can get them through this without harm. Illuminated, the Fold doesn’t seem as vast as it once did, the first time she entered it. It’s only darkness, after all.

Then, all at once, on the edge of her light, she catches sight of a wreck. What must have once been another sand skiff, now just a jumble of rotting wood and tattered sails.

And her heart stops. Because suddenly it’s Mal on that skiff, his broken body rotting in the darkness. And it’s the screams of the people she once left behind her echoing in her ears. It’s the Darkling’s hands on her, dragging her magic out of her as she tries desperately to resist him.

His eyes meet hers across the deck of the skiff, and everything goes dark.

She can hear volcra screams in her ears, growing closer, and yet everything seems far away. It’s as if she exists outside her body, watching everything from afar and unable to do anything.

She feels hands fall on her shoulders, shaking her. More than one set of hands, she thinks, detached. She hears a voice, maybe more than one, yelling in her ear.

Then she feels cold steel on her arm, and sudden pain, and all at once, the light returns, and she’s back in her body.

“Squallers, increase our speed,” she hears the Darkling snarl, and realizes as she feels the words rumble in his chest that he has pulled her close against him. And then she feels the skiff pick up speed as the Squallers - Nadia and Zoya, she thinks absently - send more of their wind into the sails.

The Darkling has pressed a cloth to her arm, and she realizes that he must have cut her arm to force her magic out of her. The same way he had when she first met him, not far from here. Perhaps she should be angry, but then, he probably just saved her life, so she can’t really bring herself to resent it.

“Hold on, solnishka,” he’s murmuring in her ear. And she does - although she doesn’t know whether it’s for herself, or for him, or just because she has no reason to do anything else.

When the skiff finally grinds to a halt at the makeshift dry-docks in West Ravka, Alina hears the Darkling tell Nikolai, his voice low, “Get the others to Os Kervo. We’ll follow shortly.”

Then she feels him stand. He’s carrying her, cradled in her arms, and she’s so drained, she can’t bring herself to protest.

It takes a moment before she realizes that he’s bringing them back into the Fold. She realizes this when it occurs to her that she can’t see her surroundings at all. It’s utterly dark.

She’s now regained enough sense to be frightened again. “What are you doing?” she asks, panic beginning to creep into her voice as she instinctively sends out tendrils of light, desperately trying to drive the darkness away from them.

He doesn’t stop moving. “You need to come to terms with this in order to move forward.” He’s brought her some distance - it’s hard to tell how far - into the Fold, and surrounding her light, there is nothing but blackness. Suddenly, he instructs, “Put out your light.”

“What?”

He kneels now, keeping her cradled in his arms - although whether he means to keep her safe or to keep her trapped with him, she’s not sure - as he murmurs into her ear, “We are made of the same stuff they are. They won’t hurt us. Leave us in the dark.”

The nichevo’ya bite on her shoulder throbs at his words, at the nearness of the volcra she can feel around them,but something inside her screams at her to trust him, and, against her better judgment,she does as he says. Suddenly, everything around them is plunged back into deep, penetrating darkness.

“Why did you bring me here?” Alina finally asks after what feels like an eternity of silence.

His voice is quiet, but she can hear him clearly, as if the Fold is eating up every sound that isn’t them. “Because you need to understand the magnitude of your powers. Right now, you’re frightened of what you can do. That’s why you froze, isn’t it, Alina? You saw those people you killed. You’re afraid of what you’re capable of.”

“I’m nothing like you!” Her words come out more vehement than she intended. “You’re a monster!”

“I’m also a man, Alina.” That’s not sadness, not regret in his voice. She refuses to acknowledge it.

“No, you’re not. You don’t even have a name.”

“Aleksander,” he murmurs, and it’s so low, she almost doesn’t hear it. It takes her a moment to realize he’s answered her unspoken question, and she’s temporarily speechless.

His name is so...ordinary. His friends, if he had ever had any, might have called him Sasha. Sashenka, even. Perhaps his mother once called him inside the house that way. Perhaps a lover once… no. She’s not going to speculate about that. Not while she’s lying cradled in his arms.

“What do you want, _Aleksander_?” She spits it out, intending to anger him, but by the shudder that runs through him, she suspects that it may have had the opposite effect.

“I want you to acknowledge that this is a part of you, just as your light is. That I am a part of you.”

***

Nikolai gets a certain perverse pleasure out of ignoring the Darkling’s high-handed orders. He did send everyone on their way to Os Kervo, mostly because remaining by the edge of the Fold while the Darkling took Alina off to do saints knew what wasn’t really an option. But he has no intention of leaving Alina here, whatever the Darkling says.

So he waits, Tolya beside him, while the Darkling’s Heartrender stands a few paces away. He tries not to send too many hostile glances in the Corporalnik’s direction.

The sun is nearly gone by the time Alina and the Darkling emerge, walking a few steps apart from each other. Alina looks grumpy.

“My love,” he announces when she gets closer to him. She glares at him, and he softens his expression. “We’re not far from Os Kervo,” he says quietly. “Will you ride with me?”

She allows him to lift her onto his borrowed horse, and he mounts up behind her. Before he spurs the horse on, he glances down at the Darkling. The grisha looks back up at him, and Nikolai finds himself stunned by the intense expression he sees in the other man’s face. Whatever happened between the two of them in the Fold, Nikolai has a strong feeling that the Darkling isn’t finished yet.

***

“Give us a path through the Fold.”

The Darkling looks up from the table where he sits, poring over old journals he must have brought with him from the Little Palace.

Nikolai feels incredibly out of place here. Even in just the week they’ve been in residence in Os Kervo, these rooms have clearly come to belong to the Darkling, and trespassing is uncomfortable.The thought even crosses Nikolai’s mind that perhaps these rooms were once, in fact, his - before the Fold, before monarchs stopped coming here.An idle thought, and one that is not likely to aid Nikolai in his business here.He swallows his unease and stands tall, waiting for the Darkling’s answer.

As he expected, the Darkling’s initial response is circumspect. “What makes you think I have the power to do that?”

Nikolai takes a step closer and folds his arms across his chest in challenge. “Let’s call it a hunch.”

The Darkling’s eyes narrow, and he leans forward in his chair. “Why?”

“Our rule will never be stable if people are afraid you’re going to use the Fold against them. If, instead, we can allow people to travel safely through the Fold, it will go a long way toward fostering good will, especially here in Os Kervo. You’ve pledged your loyalty to me, and to the crown of Ravka. Show us how much your word is worth.”

Nikolai knows that baiting the Darkling like this has the potential to backfire - and badly - but he can’t allow the grisha to hide behind evasive answers. If this is going to work, then he needs to force the Darkling to declare himself, one way or the other.

The Darkling tilts his head curiously at Nikolai. “You have no idea what my word means.” He pauses. Then, his voice lower, he asks, “What are you willing to give in exchange?”

Nikolai hadn’t really expected the Darkling to give this up without getting something in return. But there's nothing he can think of to offer that he’s willing to part with, at least at this stage of the game. Except, perhaps… He’s toyed with the idea before, and something tells him it might work now. He inhales deeply, then declares, “Myself.”

The Darkling laughs, a cold sound, and Nikolai is immediately annoyed. “You wouldn’t be the first king I’ve tumbled, Lantsov. You think too highly of yourself.”

Nikolai shrugs. There’s no reason to let on that the Darkling’s jab has bothered him. “Perhaps. But you know this would benefit both of us.”

The Darkling finally stands and approaches Nikolai, and although the grisha is slightly shorter, it feels oddly as though he towers over Nikolai now. One of his hands moves to run through Nikolai’s long hair as he leans forward to murmur into his ear, “Tonight, I’ll come find you in your study. You hold up your end of this bargain, and I’ll hold up mine.” Then he turns and sits back down at his desk, returning to his papers and not giving the king a second glance.

Nikolai leaves the room, his thoughts spinning. What changed the Darkling’s mind? And does it even matter, if the Darkling does what Nikolai wants?

Evening comes disconcertingly quickly, the shadows lengthening across Nikolai’s study long before he is ready to see the sun set. It feels like no time at all before he hears the door to his study open, and the Darkling is sweeping into the room.

Nikolai rises from behind his desk, and they stand awkwardly for a moment - how does one even begin an assignation like this, anyways? - before the Darkling moves around the desk to claim Nikolai’s lips with his own.

The Darkling is not gentle. His hands capture Nikolai’s face, his waist, his ass, then one moves to cup his quickly hardening length. Nikolai jumps at the Darkilng’s forceful grip, and the grisha bites his lip in response, hard enough to draw blood.

And then he’s roughly turning Nikolai around so he’s bent over the desk, he’s unbuckling Nikolai’s belt and shoving his trousers to his knees, and he’s sliding a slicked-up finger into Nikolai’s ass while his other hand cups his balls.

It’s an odd sensation. Nikolai certainly isn’t inexperienced when it comes to sex, but he’s never had anyone enter him like this before. The Darkling’s lips suck on the back of Nikolai’s neck while his finger pumps in and out, slicking him up - and now there are two, Nikolai suddenly realizes, as his mind nearly whites out with the feeling.

And then the fingers are gone, and Nikolai feels oddly bereft. Until he feels the head of the Darkling’s cock pressing lightly into him.

One of the Darkling’s hands moves to grasp Nikolai’s dick while the other guides him into Nikolai’s ass. Nikolai finds himself moaning desperately as the Darkling’s cock - which is sizable, although not enormous - slides inside him.

The Darkling has just begun to thrust in earnest, and the sounds of both of them moaning and the slapping of flesh are filling the room with an obscene music when Nikolai hears the door snick open and footsteps approach.

“Nikolai, I got your note, what is it you…” The way her words trail off, and her audible gasp is the only sign that Alina has seen them, but it’s damning enough as it is.

And even if it weren’t, the Darkling’s next words would have sealed the deal. “Come here, little saint,” he commands, his voice smooth and utterly demanding, “Come and kiss your husband.”

No. There’s no way she’ll agree to that. To kiss him while the Darkling is fucking him? She must already be running, she’s probably halfway down the hallway by now.

But then he feels soft, warm lips on his, and hands on his face, and he opens his eyes to find himself looking right into Alina’s deep brown eyes.

“That’s right, Alina,” the Darkling is saying, as his hand and his cock take Nikolai higher. “Kiss him while I make him come.”

And it’s as if the Darkling’s words alone have power over him. Suddenly Nikolai is coming, spurting ribbons of cum across the desk, and hot shame fills him as Alina meets his eyes, presses one more sweet kiss to his lips, and then runs.

And Nikolai now knows exactly why the Darkling agreed to this. He knows he’s been played. And yet there’s a part of him that finds he doesn't mind.

***

The Darkling does as he promised Nikolai he would. After all, strengthening Lantsov’s rule over Ravka can only benefit him in the long run. He takes Alina with him into the Fold again - and although she’s somewhat wary after the last time, she’s ultimately willing to join him when he explains his purpose. It takes several hours, but with careful weaving of her magic with his own, he manages to create a pathway through the Fold, half a mile wide, that a caravan can pass through without much difficulty.

She doesn’t speak to him at all during the process, but that’s fine. She’s seen what he needs her to see. She knows that there’s no escape from him, no matter where she turns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and I need a shower. XD
> 
> Also for reasons that are somewhat unclear, Tolya and Ivan apparently also need their own story and there is nothing written for their ship (I know, crazy!), so I'm starting in on that as a little side project within this. Check out Heartrenders (part of this series) if you're interested. :)


	4. Chapter 4

They’ve been back in Os Alta for a week, and no one will tell Alina anything. She can tell there’s something wrong from the lowered voices, the frequent missives in and out of the palace, the grim expression on Nikolai’s face when he emerges from one of the many council meetings that she’s no longer invited to, the one that quickly disappears when he sees her and he returns immediately to his usual jovial state.

And when she confronts Nikolai, asks him what’s going on, he turns on his charm and manages to say nothing of substance, whatever questions she might pepper him with.

Alina hates it. Hates being treated like a child who needs to be protected, where she was his equal just months ago. Her power is second only to the Darkling’s, so why is she being ignored like a pretty piece of furniture?

And so she finds herself here, back in the Little Palace, in front of doors that lead to rooms that were once briefly hers, to demand an explanation. Because as much as the Darkling has lied to her and manipulated her in the past, and she has no doubt he will continue to do so in the future, she has a strong suspicion that he will speak to her about this. Perhaps to make her feel obligated to him, perhaps simply to annoy Nikolai. She will accept any reason, if it allows her to get some insight into what’s going on.

But of course, there’s a barrier she needs to pass through before she can speak with him. A very tall, Heartrender-shaped barrier.

“Ivan, get out of my way. Let me see him.” She’s too aggravated to be polite right now.

Ivan scowls back at her. “Back off, Sun Summoner. He gave orders not to be disturbed.”

Behind her, she can feel Tolya gearing up for a fight. But just as she’s about to snap back at Ivan, the door swings open and the Darkling remarks calmly, “That will be enough, Ivan. I’ll let you know when I need you.” Then he gestures for Alina to come inside.

And as she does, it’s odd, but she feels her anger melt away. Perhaps it’s that surety that always fills her when he touches her, that’s begun to pervade the very air in this room he’s clearly reclaimed as his own. And physically, at least, his study has entirely reverted back to its original state. There are no signs, at least any that are visible to Alina, that she ever occupied this room.

That thought is driven out of her mind when he stops right in front of her, and his hand very lightly - so lightly, she’s not completely certain he’s actually touching her - cups her jaw. A chill runs through her when he asks, low and seductive, “Why are you here, Alina?”

She takes a deep breath, trying her best to ignore the effect he has on her body. “Something’s going on, and no one will tell me what. I’ve asked Nikolai, and he brushes me off. So, while you don’t exactly have the best track record for telling me the truth, I know that you know what’s going on, and I’m guessing that the temptation of telling me something Nikolai won’t, will be too great for you to resist.”

He actually laughs at that. Alina can’t decide whether she’s pleased or offended. “I think you understand me too well, my little saint.” He kisses her forehead, just as lightly as he had touched her, and then steps away. She stifles the whimper that threatens to escape her at his sudden absence.

He pulls out a chair for her, then moves to take his own seat on the other side of the desk, clasping his hands in front of him and fixing her with a searching look.

“Your husband is concerned,” he begins, his voice low, “about your ability to remain objective and rational in this case, since it involves…someone from your past. I’ve told him that I think he’s still better off keeping you informed, but I’m just an advisor, of course. The final decision rests with him.”

They both know this isn’t the whole story. But she’s willing to deal with a few lies if it means she gets the vague outline of the truth, too.

She smiles, egging him on when he pauses for a moment. “But you’re going to tell me anyway,” she prods.

He smirks back, and her stomach quivers. “Of course I am, solnishka.”

The story isn’t quite what she was expecting, but it’s not so far off, either. Apparently the Apparat, claiming that Alina is being held captive by the evil Darkling and the treacherous Nikolai, has formed what amounts to a rebellion.

Nikolai has ordered his subordinates to ignore it, at least for the time being. There’s no way any enemy forces could storm Os Alta right now, even if they had thousands of soldiers. Which they clearly don’t. He thinks responding at all would reveal that the Crown’s position is weak.

But there are worrisome rumors swirling around. That this somehow involves Vasily, who has somehow returned from exile. That some high-profile First Army officers have joined. That they have grisha on their side.

“So what are you suggesting we do about this?”

The Darkling shrugs. “Watch and wait for them to tip more of their hand. As of now, I’ve heard nothing to suggest that they’re a real threat, but I also didn’t make it to where I am by ignoring threats simply because they appear minor.”

His words remind Alina that the Darkling does, in fact, have many lifetimes’ worth of experience in politics. Certainly many more than Nikolai has. She still doesn’t trust his motives, but right now, their interests seem to line up, and she’s inclined to agree with him.

“Would it help for me to make some sort of public appearance? Make it clear that I’m not a hostage?”

He tilts his head, as if he’s seriously considering her suggestion. Despite herself, a thrill of warmth creeps through her at the idea that he’s actually respecting her opinion as an equal, rather than just trying to impose his will on her. “I’m not sure it would do much good at this point. They would probably claim that you’ve been seduced or magicked into joining Nikolai. Ultimately, it might hurt your credibility among the people more than it helps us. But we’ll continue to reassess as the situation develops.”

“I want to know whats going on.” Alina tries to infuse as much authority into her voice as she can, to make it sound as if she’s issuing an order, not begging for a favor. “So if Nikolai won’t allow me into his council meetings, then I’m relying on you.”

An enigmatic smile plays at his lips as the Darkling bows slightly and rises to escort her out. “Your wish is my command, Your Majesty.”

It’s only after she’s back in her rooms that it occurs to her that the Darkling didn’t elaborate on what he meant by “someone from your past,” and she didn’t think to ask. Perhaps he and Nikolai really are disturbingly similar, she thinks tartly.

***

Lantsov really should include her in the meetings. She’s sharp - perhaps more than he himself was willing to admit when they were adversaries. And she deserves to be informed about the threats to their rule, however serious they may or may not be.

And as much as he tried to avoid scaring Alina, he’s concerned by the reports he’s getting right now. Of the support the rebellion is getting from the people, of how many First Army officers - some along with their units - have defected. Of the possibility that Fjerda may be involved in some way.

In an all-out battle, of course, the Darkling’s side will be victorious - he has merzhost, and the power of fear, among other assets. But something makes the Darkling think that this won’t come to a meeting of arms. The Apparat is too shrewd for that, and even the First Army generals are unlikely to risk their troops on a direct confrontation. They’re planning something else, and the Darkling doesn’t like it.

And something else has him worried. There’s a spy in their midst. He hasn’t figured out yet who it is, or how it’s happening, but papers are starting to disappear. On their return from Os Kervo, one of Morozova’s journals, one that he was consulting in his search for the firebird, vanished. And the Fabrikator workshop has reported several schematics gone - specifically ones related to Lantsov’s flying contraptions. If there’s a mole in the Little Palace, then who knows what other segments of the government they’ve breached - and what information they’ve managed to bring back to their masters.

He sweeps into the central hall of the Little Palace, Ivan following closely behind. The bustle of mealtime barely pauses when he enters, and he regards it as a good sign. The grisha - both those who remained loyal to him and those who joined Alina - are becoming reaccustomed to his authority here. After a few weeks of fear, his presence is normal again. At some point soon, he’ll presumably need to do something to scare them, to keep them from becoming complacent, but some comfort is good for the moment.

At one of the long tables, the Tailor, Genya, sits alone: one red kefta, and a large gap between hers and a huddle of blue ones, further down the table. The Tailor hasn’t fully rehabilitated herself in his eyes, since she allowed the Sun Summoner to escape on the Bone Road, but he’s decided that the three large, presumably painful nichevo’ya bites on her shoulders and neck will be sufficient punishment for the time being.

And she’s useful. He’s insisted that she be at Alina’s disposal, to ensure that the new queen still has some companionship, aside from her bodyguards - and to allow the Darkling to remain informed about her comings and goings. And she also has potential as a Corporalnik, which is why he insists on her presence here at the Little Palace when she’s not attending to Alina.

A purple shape approaches, and he recognizes David, his best Fabrikator, seating himself beside Genya. Interesting. He was initially tempted to punish the Fabrikator for siding with the Sun Summoner, but the man’s too useful to him, and besides, it’s still unclear to the Darkling whether the man’s decision was based on politics or just on not wanting to leave his workshops.

But a potential alliance between the Tailor and the Fabrikator could be useful.

His gaze moves to the next table, where a patchwork of red and blue shapes, with the occasional purple, talk animatedly together. All young, full of potential. Powerful Squallers, including the women they brought with them to West Ravka. Heartrenders, Tidemakers, Healers. Some of them sided with him; others with Alina. Had their pointless, foolish war continued, much of this potential might have been lost forever.

Perhaps his Sun Summoner is right, he muses. Perhaps they really are stronger together than they are tearing each other apart.

***

Alina suspects that it’s partly an apology for keeping her out of the loop during the day, but Nikolai comes to her bed nearly every night now to make gentle love to her.

The first time he came to her, right after they returned to the palace, she felt some hesitation from him, as if he wanted to ask her how she felt about what she witnessed between him and the Darkling in Os Kervo. But she has no answer for him on that. She knows she should be furious that he was unfaithful to her, that he gave into the Darkling’s manipulations.

But she’s certainly not immune to the Darkling’s manipulations, either. And although she’s still struggling to untangle the mass of emotions that witnessing the Darkling thrusting into Nikolai raised in her, she doesn’t think that anger isn’t one of them.

So she lets him come to her. And the sex isn’t mind-blowing or earth-shattering the way she once thought it might be with Mal, but it’s sweet and comfortable and it feels nice to be in his arms. To have some companionship during the night when her days are now so empty.

Tonight, he’s just slid her nightgown over her head and begun gently kissing her breasts when a voice above them states matter-of-factly, “She’s not a porcelain doll, Lantsov. She won’t break if you show her some passion.” He pauses, and his voice lowers, directed just at her. “That’s what you want, isn’t it, little saint?”

She knows that she should tell him to fuck off, that being in her bedroom while she and her husband are having sex is wildly inappropriate. And to be honest, if she threatened him, he would probably leave. But the idea of making Nikolai lose some of that control that he so carefully cultivates around her is just too tempting - a moan escapes her lips before she can call it back.

And as if she summoned him, he Darkling steps out of the shadows to stand beside the bed, his hand resting on one of the posts, not touching either of them. Nikolai has paused, and he is now watching the grisha intently, saying nothing. Perhaps he is waiting for Alina to send the Darkling away. Or perhaps he’s remembering the feeling of the Darkling’s hands on his skin, the Darkling’s cock inside his…

The Darkling seems to see Alina’s thoughts on her face, because he smirks. Then, before either of them can gain enough composure to speak, he asks, “Alina, do you want to taste your husband?”

And although the thought hadn’t really even crossed her mind before, now the idea of having him in her mouth sends a surge of longing straight down to her center. She moans, and her lips fall to his, demanding, taking much more than Nikolai has offered her up to this point.

But Nikolai pulls away, his eyes serious. “Alina, I don’t expect anything like that from you. You’re my wife, not a whore he can order around.” His hand gently cups her jaw. “Say the word, and I’ll send him away.”

She shakes her head. “I want you, Kolya.” The nickname slips out of her before she notices she’s said it, but it immediately feels right. “Not just the part of you that you think your wife needs. All of you.”

He’s still hesitating, so she commands, “Take your shirt off.”

And there must be enough authority and conviction in her voice, because he does as she asks without further protest. Meanwhile, she climbs down his body and unbuttons his trousers, slides them down his legs, and runs her hand along his hard length.

It’s odd to think that she’s never really examined him up close before. They’ve made love a number of times by now, but he’s always taken the lead, never really allowed her to just touch him. She takes a moment and looks up his body at him - his strong chest, toned arms, blond hair falling into his eyes as he looks at her, his carefully controlled expression starting to slip. He’s beautiful, she thinks, slightly puzzled at the idea.

Experimentally, she lowers her lips to his head and sucks just the tip into her mouth, a bead of salty fluid settling on her tongue. Nikolai moans, and Alina feels a rush of power jolt through her. She did that.

The Darkling must have moved down the bed, because his hands settle gently on her head, not pushing her, but guiding her as she takes more of Nikolai into her mouth.

“Can you feel how much he likes what you’re doing?” the Darkling is whispering to her, as Nikolai moans above her. She runs her hands down his stomach, up his thighs, enjoying the feel of his firm muscles under her hands as she licks and kisses and sucks him.

Then the Darkling takes her hands and cups them around Nikolai’s balls. “Feel how hard you’re making him with your mouth,” he murmurs in her ear, and then, as she continues to stroke Nikolai with her hands and lips and tongue, the Darkling’s fingers move to her clit and begin slowly stroking her while his other hand continues to guide her head as she sucks her husband.

And it’s incredible. The feeling of Nikolai in her mouth and in her hands, the feeling of the Darkling’s hands on her, sending her higher and higher, Nikolai’s moans becoming louder and his balls become stiff and swollen in her hands.

And suddenly the Darkling is gently pulling her away, murmuring, “We’ll stop there. He’s going to come in your cunt, not your mouth.”

She wants to protest, to keep chasing this incredible feeling, but she can’t find the words to express it.

The Darkling is still speaking. "But first, he’s going to reciprocate.”

Alina’s eyes widen. Reciprocate? What does that…?

Nikolai is flipping her over now, and she tries to protest, but he hushes her with a surprisingly passionate kiss. When he pulls away, he has a playful smile on his lips. “Alina, I think you’ll like this. Give it a try, and if you want me to stop, just say so.”

Alright. She nods. She feels oddly safe right now, considering her sometimes-archenemy is directing her husband in bed with her. But she knows instinctively that they really will listen to her, and if she asks them to stop, they will.

At her go-ahead, Nikolai slides down her body, his fingers grazing her breasts, her stomach, her inner thighs, before he settles down between her legs and runs his fingers down her slit.

He’s used his fingers to pleasure her before, of course, but this feels completely different, with his attentions totally focused on her, the Darkling’s hands on Nikolai’s head the way they had been on hers.

And then his mouth is on her and oh saints! She can’t think anymore. There’s nothing but his fingers and his tongue and waves and waves of pleasure. At some point, the Darkling’s mouth falls to her breasts, too, and she’s too far gone and it all feels too good for it to even fully register in her mind. She thinks the Darkling, between sucking on her, is giving Nikolai instructions, but her mind is too hazy to understand what he’s saying. And then she’s coming, hard, and two sets of arms are holding her tight as she shudders and clenches against them.

And suddenly she feels empty. Bereft. “Kolya,” she whispers, “I need you inside me.”

And he moves to climb on top of her, but the Darkling immediately shakes his head. “Let her ride you, Lantsov,” he instructs, and the idea is so incredibly hot, she can’t help the moan and the whispered “Please, Kolya,” that escapes her.

So Nikolai is turning over onto his back, and she’s climbing on top of him, the Darkling - still wearing trousers and a shirt, she’s suddenly surprised to find, although he’s gotten rid of his kefta and boots at some point - sitting right behind her, his hands trailing along her breasts as she straddles Nikolai. Then he murmurs, “Take him, Alina,” and his mouth is on her neck, and she’s sinking down onto Nikolai’s cock and he’s filling her up like he never has before.

The Darkling’s hands and mouth are everywhere, and Nikolai’s seem to be wherever his aren’t - when the Darkling is sucking on her neck and rubbing her clit, Nikolai has taken a breast into his mouth; and then when he’s kissing her, the Darkling is massaging her breasts; and all the while, Nikolai is thrusting into her, faster and harder than he’s ever done before, and the most obscene moans are escaping both of them.

As she feels a second orgasm start to take her, Nikolai’s thrusts become frantic, and they’re both plunging into ecstasy together.

When they’re entirely spent, she falls forward onto his chest, and he wraps her in his arms.

But even as they fall into sated half-sleep, she can feel the Darkling pulling away from them, and however she feels about him during the day, for some reason she wants him to stay with them right now. She _needs_ him to. She grabs his hand as he stands, and pleads softly, “Stay with us, Sasha.”

She can feel Nikolai’s confusion at her use of the Darkling’s name, but he doesn’t comment on that. He simply adds, his voice rougher than she’s ever heard it: “Stay.”

And the Darkling - she almost laughs to find him still clothed, after the passion they just shared - curls up beside them, his arms around both of them.

It makes a strange sort of sense, she thinks absently as she drifts off into sleep. Ever since the night of the fete, last year, when he lost control and everything went haywire, he’s put up these walls around himself. He’s afraid of giving in to his desire again. He keeps up this veneer of distance, as if he’s afraid to get to close.

And he won't allow himself to be vulnerable with them, even in these intimate moments. It suddenly occurs to her that he hasn’t even allowed himself to come once, in the times they’ve been together. He’s always kept himself separate. Aloof. Safe.

She wonders if they’ll ever be able to break through the walls that he’s built around himself. She wonders when she started wanting to try.

***

Now that they’ve returned from their trip to West Ravka, Nikolai decides to plan a fete. With rumors of rebellion swirling around them, it’s even more important than usual for them to keep up the illusion that they are completely in control. And a party is an excellent way to achieve that.

Alina is reluctant, as he suspected she might be, but she still dutifully attends dancing lessons and fittings and tutorials in etiquette, so that she can play the role of queen to perfection.

And she does. When he meets her in the corridor, right before they’re about to be announced, she looks every inch the part, from her perfectly fitted golden gown (his suggested color scheme, he’s pleased to notice) to the haughty expression on her face. His smile is genuine when he kisses her gloved hand and suggests, “Shall we, madam?”

She frowns at him, and the illusion is broken for a second, but he’s glad to see that the real Alina is still lurking somewhere behind this royal facade. She puts her hand on his arm, though, and immediately she is back in character. They sweep into the ballroom, the perfect royal couple.

And he can’t take his eyes off her - not when they’re dancing the first dance, or when they’re making a circuit of the room, and certainly not when the Darkling takes her in his arms for a waltz.

Nikolai is glad he’s made his way back to his seat on the dais and away from the crush of nobles by then, because he can’t stop himself from recalling the last night the three of them spent together, and how Alina looked with the Darkling’s hand on her head, and he’s certain he must be blushing crimson.

The sight of the two of them dancing makes him ferociously hungry - not just for Alina, he realizes with a jolt of fear, but for the Darkling, too.

***

Alina is sitting for a moment in an empty corner of the ballroom, hot and slightly overwhelmed from having to greet so many nobles and act as though she belongs here. This is worse than the first fete she attended, she thinks, since then, at least, she was not much more than a glorified soldier performing parlor tricks for the assembled nobility. Now, she is expected not to act as their equal - which would be bad enough - but to be their superior.

A moment from last winter’s fete flashes into her mind: Duke Keramsov, who saved her life and gave her a home as a child, not even recognizing her. She’s so insignificant that even a man who devoted his home to orphans couldn’t remember her. What in saints’ name is she doing, playing at being queen?

And then another memory comes unbidden, of stolen kisses and hands and her back pushed up against a door. This time, they performed no magic tricks, and his hand on her back while they danced was firm and controlled. She tries to tell herself she’s not disappointed that his lust is more contained this time. Her gaze darts to where he stands on the other end of the room, not making an attempt to speak to anyone, simply watching.

A servant approaches and hands her a glass of champagne, and she thanks him appreciatively as he moves on through the room. She’s about to take a sip when she realizes there’s a note tied to the stem.

It’s just an address. There’s no name, but Alina would know that handwriting anywhere. Mal.

And suddenly everything in her being is focused on two words that are now frantically beating against the inside of her skull: Mal’s here! Mal’s here!

She knows it’s wrong. Her duty is to be the queen, after all, not to run back to Mal. But knowing he’s here, in the city, opens up a wound in her heart that never totally healed.

It’s as if she’s being drawn along a tether that she can’t fight, even if she tried.

She ducks out of the fete as quickly as she can, not looking back at either Nikolai or the Darkling. She gathers light around her to avoid notice: a neat trick she’s been trying out recently, and quite useful for situations like these.

When she gets back to her rooms, she goes straight to her closets and is immediately grateful that she insisted on keeping some plain clothes with her. She slips out of her gown and throws on a simple dress, shawl, headscarf; and then, sticking her head back out in the hallway to make sure Tolya doesn’t follow, she slides out the first-floor window and hurries down the road into the main part of the city.

She doesn’t think about what this means for her, for Mal, for the king and the Darkling. She doesn’t think about how this might alter everything. She can’t. It’s too painful to even contemplate turning around at this point.

It doesn’t take long to find the place he directed her to in his note.

She walks into the tavern, glancing around nervously. She hasn’t been in an establishment like this since her days in the First Army. That time feels so distant, it might have well have been another life.

She spots him in an armchair in the corner, a tankard of ale in one hand and another for her on a side table. He rises, a grim expression on his face.

“Mal?” Her voice comes out uncertain, even to her own ears. There’s something unfamiliar in the way he holds himself. He smiles, a grudging expression that doesn’t make it to his eyes, and pulls her into an embrace that feels stiff somehow, not right.

He pulls away and, not quite meeting her eyes, gestures to the chair beside his. “Have a drink. I’m sure you’re exhausted after tonight’s party.”

She’s tempted to ask him how he knew about the party, but then, royal events are probably common knowledge in Os Alta. She leans back in the chair and takes a sip of the ale. It really has been a long time since her First Army days - the beer tastes sourer than she remembers.

She looks at him, then finds her gaze skittering away. He’s so serious, it’s almost painful to look at him. “I’m glad to see you. I really am.”

Suddenly, her decision comes easily. She had expected a tearful reunion, that immediate feeling of rightness she’s always had with him. But that’s gone now. He’s a different man. They’ve gone down different paths. And she reminds herself that she had a reason for aligning with Nikolai and the Darkling, and that reason goes beyond just her own feelings. She did what she thought was best for Ravka, and she still believes she made the right choice.

She sighs, gathering her thoughts, then continues, “But this isn’t… we shouldn’t be seen together. And I don’t think this is going to make things easier for either of us.” She takes another sip of her beer, and her heart starts to beat faster and more frantically as the silence between them stretches out.

And then her vision starts to blur. Her thoughts are becoming confused. “Mal?” she manages to murmur as he lifts her in his arms, holds her against his chest. What’s happening?

“I didn’t want to have to do this,” he says quietly, “but it’s for the good of Ravka.”

The last coherent thought Alina manages to form is that the Darkling will be furious when he realizes she’s disappeared on the night of another fete. Then everything goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look! Mal's back! Yay! (haha. or not.) Full disclosure: I've kind of blocked out the Malina parts of S&S from my memory, and I don't REALLY want to reread them, so I apologize for any inconsistencies in Mal's character here and in the next few chapters. But also - not really that sorry. xD
> 
> Also quick note: I'm not an expert/native speaker, but from what I've seen/heard, most Russians NEVER call someone by their full name unless they're using the very formal first name + patronymic. Usually they use a nickname like the ones I included here. I think Alina's a short enough name already that it doesn't need a nickname, but the idea of calling someone their full name during sex, for example, is a little silly, which is why Kolya and Sasha are making an appearance in this chapter. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm totally blown over by all the wonderful comments - thank you!! :D

Alina wakes up in a completely unfamiliar space. It’s a small, bare room, with a few pieces of simple furniture and walls made of stone. She’s lying on a narrow bed that feels hard under her back.

And every muscle in her body aches. It’s all she can do to force herself to sit up. As she does, she finds that she’s still dressed - that’s a blessing, anyway.

Slowly, memories of the night before return to her. The fete. The note from Mal. Seeing him in that dingy tavern. The strange taste of the ale he gave her, losing consciousness… Mal drugged her. He knew she was unlikely to go along willingly with whatever he had planned, so instead of talking it out with her, he just…took her.

Rage flares up in Alina, stronger than she’s felt since she made her truce with the Darkling. Only this time, the person her anger is directed at isn’t her sworn enemy - it’s the one person in the world she thought she could trust.

A well-hidden door opens in the wall, and, as if summoned by her thoughts, Mal steps into the room. His face is grim, and his presence does nothing to soften her simmering fury. But she does her best to keep a lid on it for now. He might have some kind of explanation for her.

“I’m here to take you to the council.”

Her mind starts whirring - what council? Who is he talking about?

Without waiting for a response, he takes her hands in his, and she’s relieved for a second. His touch is familiar, calming, even despite their current situation. Maybe things will turn out alright, after all.

But then he takes out a cord and binds her hands in front of her, and while the bind isn’t tight enough to be painful, the intention couldn’t be clearer.

“So that’s what this is?” she can’t stop herself from snapping. “I’m your prisoner?”

He looks at her sharply. “The council has asked that you be prevented from using your hands until they can be assured of your loyalty. I’m sure you’ll prove yourself quickly.”

Alina has no idea what this council is, but she already feels like retching. Prove her loyalty? To whom? And why? Why are they so afraid she’ll use her powers against them?

But she has no time to ask, because Mal has already taken her arm and is dragging her out of the room. He brings her through a tight, narrow tunnel with stone walls, and she starts to get the impression that they’re underground. When she feels for sunlight, and gets no response, she realizes they must be _deep_ underground. And that’s when she starts to panic. She’s trapped underground by some group with unknown intentions, and she can’t access her powers.

And then, before Alina really has the chance to prepare herself, they’re walking into a larger chamber, where a dozen or so figures are seated at a large table. Mal brings her to a chair facing the group, but the only light sources in this room are some dim candles in sconces on the walls, so she can’t make out a single face.

They’re all completely silent as she takes her seat. It’s as if none of them are even breathing.

And the silence quickly becomes too much for Alina. She decides to begin, hoping perhaps that her boldness will throw them off, even just a little.

“Where am I?” She puts just enough threat in her tone to make it clear that the Sun Summoner is not pleased.

An unfamiliar voice responds. “You’re safe. That’s all you need to know.”

So they’re going to try to keep her ignorant. If there’s anything Alina won’t accept, it’s that, so she tries her mantle of authority next. She can’t summon a halo of sunlight to surround her and infuse her words with more power, so she tries to do it with words alone. “I am the Sun Summoner and the Queen of Ravka. Do I not have the right to know where I am being held prisoner?”

The next voice to speak is chillingly familiar. And its unctuous tones make her want to claw at her skin in revulsion. Although at least this gives her some useful information - the rumors about Vasily were true, and apparently he’s not only back in Ravka, but sitting in front of her.

“You’re also a traitor to the Crown,” he spits, his voice nearly dripping with disgust, “and if our council had not ruled that you are to be held innocent of decisions made before and as part of your forced marriage, then your head would be on the block today rather than conversing politely with us. So keep that in mind, girl, as you decide whether to attempt to argue.”

So that’s how they’re going to try to play this. That she was forced to marry Nikolai and collaborate with the Darkling. That they’ve rescued her from a hostage situation. Smart.

She supposes she understands some of the reason for Vasily’s bitterness - she did help his brother take the throne from him. But the idea of this spiteful, petty man in charge of her beloved country makes her blood boil.

A movement in the shadows to her left suddenly draws her attention. Without even looking at it, she can feel who it is and, strangely enough, all she feels at seeing him here, in this terrifying place, is overwhelming relief. Because wherever she is, he’s managed to find her. In spirit, at least, if not in flesh.

And then, it occurs to her, as she feels anger start to take hold of him, that she’s got to make it clear that she had no part in this, before he completely loses his mind.

“So why did you have Mal bring me here, against my will?” she asks, her words as much for the Darkling’s benefit as for the council’s. And it works - she can feel him relax a little, before his rage begins to spike again, presumably now directed at the people sitting in front of her.

“Because as much as I dislike it-” Alina nearly gasps as she recognizes Duke Keramsov’s voice speaking now. High-ranking military officers joining the rebellion, indeed. And where once the presence of her savior and sponsor might have made her more wiling to trust, now he simply makes her feel small and helpless.

He continues, “-we are told that we need your power to counter the Darkling’s, especially now that, thanks to the usurper-” Alina’s body grows cold at the casual mention of Nikolai, as if he’s not ten times the king Vasily, slimy bastard that he is, would be “-he has control of most of the Second Army.”

So that means this rebellion must have control of most of the First Army. When did that happen? How did Nikolai lose so much, so quickly and so badly?

Alright. Time to get to the point. “So what, precisely, do you want from me?”

The next voice to speak doesn’t surprise Alina at all. The Apparat rasps, “We intend to help you come into your full power so you can do battle against the Darkling. We have learned the location of the final amplifier, and with its power, we are confident you can defeat him.”

Alina knows she shouldn’t anger these people, not here and now when she has no power and they outnumber her at least a dozen to one, but she can’t help herself. She’s too angry. “What makes you think I’ll help you?” she nearly spits.

The Apparat’s voice stays chillingly calm. “As I’m sure you already know, when a grisha is given an amplifier, she is tied to the person who killed the beast it came from.”

No. Oh no. Not again. A shiver runs through Alina as she can barely whisper her response, “You’re not grisha. You can’t…you can’t just kill the firebird and put it on me. You’ll kill yourself. Or me. Or you’ll create something wrong - something even worse than the Fold.”

Vasily is the one to respond. His voice has no mercy in it. “Nevertheless, we will. And if a dirty little traitor like you dies in the process, then so be it.”

She can feel the Darkling’s anger rise to a fever pitch beside her, in response to her words and her fear, which must be palpable at this point. And it’s a small comfort, even thought she knows there’s nothing he can do here. He doesn’t know where she is. He can’t get to her. Even if he tears apart all of Ravka to find her, he might not reach her in time.

But she’s still in front of these people, and they have more information than she does. She needs to keep her head, and see what she can drag out of them, especially if it might help the Darkling find her. “So you plan to just keep me locked up here until you can find the firebird?”

She can see the Apparat gesture to Mal. He steps forward, and she fights the disgust that rises in her at the thought of his betrayal.

“We have a search region.” His voice is calm, as if he isn’t talking about her imminent death or enslavement. “As soon as we have a more precise location, we’ll bring her there.”

Even better. So they’re going to force her to watch as they kill this legendary creature and slap its bones on her as another deranged piece of jewelry. Her naked wrist begins to ache, as if it realizes that, should it get its own amplifier, it would provide, not the power it craves, but only servitude to a master just as bad as her collar’s was.

She doesn’t risk glancing at the Darkling. She doesn’t want to think about what these people might do to her if they realized she had a means of communicating with him. Mal may already suspect something, it occurs to her, since he knew months ago that she was somehow negotiating with the Darkling in secret. Now she’s grateful she didn’t tell him about the Darkling’s incorporeal visits.

Apparently this council has nothing more to say to her. Now that they’ve informed her she’s at their mercy - or lack thereof - they don’t seem interested in talking to her further. Mal helps her out of her chair (since she can barely manage herself, with her wrists tied), places a hand on her back and leads her out of the room. She makes a great effort not to give into her desire to elbow his hand away.

The Darkling must have slipped away at some point while they were walking the corridors, because by the time they get back to the room that she assumes is supposed to be hers, he’s nowhere to be seen.

Then Mal starts to speak. Alina wants to tell him to shut up, but something stops her. However much of an idiot he’s been, there’s still a part of her that wants him to tell her this has all been a big mistake. That wants him to pull her into his arms and tell her it’s going to be OK.

“Alina,” he says, his voice soft and at least a little bit chastened, “I did this for our own good. For the good of Ravka. You and Nikolai are blinded to what the Darkling is doing. He’s seduced you.” Alina tries not to shudder at his words. He doesn’t know quite how uncomfortably accurate they are.

He continues, “But he’s going to destroy everything. This is the only chance we have to stop him.”

Alina sighs. A big part of her wishes she didn’t have to have this conversation, but he needs to hear her. “Alright, so instead of talking to me about it like a _fucking normal person_ , you _drugged me_ and _kidnapped me_? And I’m supposed to be OK with that? Instead of allowing me to make this decision for myself, you made this choice for me. And now, you’re helping these people do the same thing we hated the Darkling for doing to me? Slap an amplifier on me so they can control me - or kill me in the process?” She doesn’t say it, but she knows he hears it in her tone: this is what she’s come to expect from the Darkling, not from her former best friend. She trusted Mal, once, and now he’s betrayed her.

Mal’s tone is hard when he responds. “You made your choice when you decided to deal with him. We have to save you from yourself now, too.”

He’s changed a lot, she realizes, in the months that she’s been queen and he’s been gone. He’s no longer the boy she loved in Novyi Zem, or even her mess of a bodyguard. He really thinks he’s doing what’s right for Ravka, she realizes, even if it hurts people in the process. Even if it hurts her, the woman he once professed to love. Does that really make him so different from the Darkling, when it comes down to it?

***

“She didn’t go willingly.” Until he says it, he hasn't realized how important it is to him. That this isn’t like last time, when she ran away from him by choice. This time, she’s been stolen from him, and she’s trying to get back.

And that thought fills him with rage. Rage at the people who stole her, who are now, based on what he just saw, treating her like a bargaining chip, rather than the powerful immortal she is. An immortal who can burn them to a crisp, as soon as she has access to her powers again.

The king looks at him, perplexed. “Of course she didn’t. She’s not a fool.”

The Darkling doesn’t contradict him, because Nikolai hasn’t experienced the all-consuming dread that has been building inside the powerful grisha over the last twelve hours. In those first moments when he realized Alina was no longer in the ballroom. When he went to her rooms to find her absent, her gown neatly hung up as if she’d been there and then left again. When, in alternating fury and panic, he questioned servants and no one could say they’d seen her in the last few hours.

When, as he searched frantically for her, visions of the last fete she disappeared from flew through his head - Alina in his arms, on his lips, and then, just a few hours later, gone.

But Nikolai wasn’t at that first fete, and he only learned of her disappearance late last night, after the Darkling was finally forced to admit that Alina was well and truly gone from the palace. So he doesn’t understand that knowing that she’s not trying to escape them is a true relief.

Nikolai settles back into the chair in his study and pulls out a leaf of paper and a pen. This is one thing the Darkling must confess that he admires about the young king - he lacks that sense of entitlement many of his forefathers possessed in large amounts. He’s never afraid to get his hands dirty and dive into the details of a task. Perhaps it has something to do with being a bastard, forced to make his own way without relying on the absolute privilege of his birth.

And he has to agree with Lantsov - there’s something comforting about sitting down and planning a course of action, when, otherwise, everything feels like it’s flying out of their control. This is the way the Darkling has always worked, mostly because, aside from a select few worthy lieutenants - usually Heartrenders like Ivan - he has never trusted anyone enough to allow them to do his work for him.

“What resources do we have to devote to the search?”  
The Darkling leans back in the chair he occupies across from the young king. “Most of the Second Army, aside from those who are actively involved in defending our borders, can be reallocated. We can also consider using those First Army officers who have proven their loyalty to us, although I’m wary about placing too much trust in them, given our current situation.”

Nikolai nods, his pen moving as the Darkling speaks. When he finishes writing, he thinks for a moment, then adds, “Tamar and Tolya are already talking to people in the area of the city we believe she disappeared from. I don’t have much hope that she’s still nearby, but they may find something we can use.” He leans back and looks out the window, tapping the end of the pen against his lips. “I have no confidence that my father’s intelligence networks will be loyal to me, and I don’t know that his agents were much good, anyways. But we’ll need capable agents who can-"

A knock sounds at the door. The Darkling’s eyes meet Nikolai’s. The guards were explicitly told not to let anyone through while they were meeting, unless it was Ivan, Tolya, or Tamar. The king quirks an eyebrow and rises to answer the door.

The Darkling turns, too, and is surprised to find the Tailor and the Fabrikator standing in the doorway, both a bit out of breath.

“Your Majesty,” Genya announces as she pushes him forward, “David has an idea for something that might help us find Alina.”

The Fabrikator shuffles toward the desk, looking nervously from the king to the Darkling and back, then unrolls a set of plans in front of them. The Darkling leans forward to examine them with interest - this man’s often eccentric inventions have always been worth taking seriously.

Then the Fabrikator begins to explain it, and the Darkling’s interest is really piqued. It’s a sort of homing device, allowing the user to track particular types of magic use. The implications are immediately clear: if Alina is able to summon, even for just a few seconds, they’ll be able to pick up her location.

Nikolai’s eyes find his, and he nods. The king asks, “How soon can you start working on the prototype?”

“Right away, Your Majesty. Depending on how my work proceeds, I might be ready to start testing in a few days.”

Nikolai nods again, and the awkward Materialnik is moving toward the door when the Tailor suddenly grabs the Darkling’s arm.

He looks up at her sharply, more in surprise than anger. Aside from her one lapse in judgment on the Volkvolny, she’s always been compliant and uncomplaining. But now her eyes blaze as she meets his, telling him, “You have to find her. You have to bring her back.”

A smile creeps onto his face despite himself. He’s surprised to find he likes this fiery side of her, especially when their goals match. “I won’t stop until I do.”

She nods, and, apparently satisfied, she follows David from the room. And the Darkling is now more curious than ever about the connection between these two. Clearly, the Tailor cares deeply about Alina, and he’s glad - she needs allies. Loyal followers. And she seems to be the force that pulled the Fabrikator away from his other projects and got him involved in the search for Alina, which is another benefit. Perhaps this may end up being a powerful combination, after all.

The door closes, and the two men are left alone again. And suddenly the memory of the last time they were alone together in the king’s rooms forces its way into the Darkling’s mind. His gaze finds Nikolai’s, and at once he recognizes a hunger that mirrors his own in the young king’s rich hazel eyes.

He rises slowly from his chair, and watches as Lantsov does the same, each of them studying the other’s motions closely, like swordsmen in a duel. Then the Darkling smirks and quips, “Well, I’ve been up since yesterday morning. I think I’ll go to bed.”

Nikolai looks like he’s about to laugh. “Do you sleep? I thought you just brooded and plotted world domination.”

The Darkling quirks up an eyebrow. “Who said anything about sleep?”

He can see the moment his words hit, because a shudder visibly runs through the young king’s body. And that’s all the invitation he needs. He steps around the desk, takes Nikolai’s palm in his, and kisses it, his eyes never leaving the other man’s.

“Come to bed with me, Lantsov,” he murmurs, and when Nikolai groans softly in response, he needs no further encouragement; he grips the other man’s jaw hard and pulls Nikolai’s lips down to meet his.

Where before their moments were slow and crackling with tension, now the energy between them explodes, and suddenly they can’t get enough of each other. Fingers claw at skin, tongues and teeth clash, as both of them unleash all the anger and frustration and fear they feel at having lost Alina and throw it into this passion, into each other.

The Darkling manages to back them up through the doorway and into the king’s bedroom, and he pushes Nikolai onto the bed, holding the other man beneath him as his lips and hands drink him in like a man with a thirst that can never be quenched.

Briefly, Nikolai gains the upper hand, and he rolls over, crushing the Darkling beneath him. But he seems to somehow understand how much the Darkling needs to be in control, especially at this moment, because a few breaths later he surrenders again, allowing the Darkling to take back the upper hand.

The Darkling’s hand finds Nikolai’s hard cock, and it hits him suddenly: this is an intimate moment between the two of them. The last time they fucked, it was a power play, not passion. But now, this is all about the current of lust that is sweeping over the two of them - and perhaps something deeper that neither of them cares to examine right now.

And while he may not want to question what he’s feeling, he also won’t deny that he wants to claim this man in every sense of the word. And there’s no reason to deny himself, either. Strengthening the bond between the two of them can only help him achieve his ultimate goals.

So he allows himself to slow down and enjoy this. His previously frantic movements become languorous kisses and caresses, his hands roaming over the king’s supple body as he removes one item of clothing at a time.

He’s already unbuttoned the king’s shirt and moved on to the placket of his trousers when Nikolai’s hands suddenly come up to frame his face, forcing the Darkling to meet his eyes. “She called you Sasha.”

His long-ago name hits him like a slap in the face. The Darkling growls and nearly pulls away, only prevented from leaving the bed entirely by the king’s fierce grip. “I didn’t give you permission to use that name.”

But then Nikolai’s lips are on his again, and he’s whispering, “I think you don’t really mind, _Aleksander_ ,” and it’s true. He doesn’t. Not when this man’s mouth and hands are all over him, and the promise of more lingers in the air between them.

And when, after an especially strong suck on the young king’s neck, Nikolai bites out, “Take me,” it’s all he can do to grab the jar of oil from the nightstand as his lover shucks his breeches the rest of the way off. The Darkling forces himself go slowly enough to properly prepare the younger man with his fingers, even though his lust is screaming at him to _get the fuck inside that ass already_. But soon enough three fingers are sliding inside freely, and it’s good enough - the Darkling undoes the front placket of his own breeches and pushes inside, hard, all the way to his balls. For a moment, he holds himself up on his forearms and waits for Nikolai to adjust.

And the younger man does, his lips fighting to claim the Darkling’s again, as the Darkling’s hand returns to Nikolai’s cock and pumps it in time with his thrusts.

Nikolai is murmuring, “Fuck” over and over, like a litany, and at one point he confesses, his voice breathy, “I never thought I wanted another man this way.”

The Darkling is tempted to laugh at this otherwise worldly man’s naivete in this particular regard. But he also finds it oddly sweet, in a way, and maybe in part it’s this strangely warm feeling directed at this man he’s fucking, this man he thought would be nothing more than a puppet king, that hurls him over the edge, at the same time his hands bring Nikolai to orgasm in spurts that land on both their stomachs.

He tries not to think about the fact that he’s never wanted so badly to stay in bed with a man after fucking him, as he gathers Nikolai into his arms and buries his face in the man’s neck. And he definitely doesn’t think about the fact that the last place in Ravka he should be falling asleep is in the king’s bed. In the middle of the afternoon.

But he does, because few things have ever felt more right to him. And some odd impulse tells him to press a gentle kiss to the man’s forehead and whisper, “Sleep, Lantsov,” as they fall asleep in each others’ arms.

***

They’ve drugged her again.

That’s the first thought that runs through Alina’s head when she wakes, her cheek pressed uncomfortably against a wood surface. Because she doesn’t remember walking here on her own two feet, and she’s a light enough sleeper that she would have woken up if someone had tried to carry her.

That and, just like the last time, everything hurts.

The next thing she notices is that she’s no longer underground. She can feel the warm sunlight on her skin, and after all that time - days? weeks? months? she lost track of time down in the catacombs, with little but her own thoughts for company - it’s almost overwhelming.

Well, she wasn’t _entirely_ alone. Mal would occasionally come by, and she would snap at him, and then sometimes talk with him in a stiff, awkward way just because she was so desperate for human interaction. His visits were rare, though. He was gone most of the time, presumably chasing the firebird.

The Darkling came to her sometimes, too. Usually he would stand in the corner silently, just looking at her, as he used to do before they made their alliance. She knew instinctively that all he wanted was to see her, to know that she was alright, so she never tried to speak with him.

But every once in a while, he would come up to her and touch her lightly - run his hands through her now tangled and dirty hair, down her arms and back - as if to reassure himself that she was still real, and alive - that his search still had an endpoint. It had never before felt so comforting to hear him whisper, “I’ll find you, Alina,” before he slipped away, back into the dark.

But no one else ever came to see her, aside from the masked attendants who brought her food and water at regular intervals, and she was never again summoned before the council, so she lived most of her days in restless, weary anticipation of the moment they would take her from this prison, only to trap her in a new one.

And now, it seemed, they have.

Moving her neck gingerly, to avoid getting splinters in her skin, she turns to look at her surroundings.

At first, she’s confused. She’s lying in what looks like the bottom of a boat. But the firebird is in Ravka. Why would they be on the True Sea?

Then it hits her. They’ve somehow replicated one of Nikolai’s flying ships. This is how they plan to get her to the firebird. And a chill runs through her, since high in the air, there will be few chances for her to attempt to escape.

If her hands were free, she could summon - but when she tries to move, she knows immediately that her wrists are bound again.

She looks around for her captors. There’s a couple of Squallers at the mast - so the rebellion does have some grisha after all - and she sees Mal at the bow. The Apparat is speaking with Vasily a few feet away, and she fights down the bile that rises in her throat at the sight of both of them, together.

But no one is looking directly at her, so she seizes the opportunity.

First, gingerly, taking care not to rub her face on the deck, she uses her leg muscles to roll over so she’s lying on her back.

She glances up again. No one has noticed she’s awake yet. Good.

Scooting back so she’s sitting up and leaning against the side of the ship, she finds what she was looking for - a beam that hasn’t been smoothed down, that has edges sharp enough to cut rope.

Keeping her eyes fixed on her captors, ready to stop whenever they notice her, she starts sawing away at her bindings.

***

It’s otherworldly. Beautiful and powerful, outlined against the mist of the falls.

And it’s about to die. They’re about to kill it so they can control her in this endless war against the Darkling.

She stretches her fingers toward the end of the rope that binds her hands. Her work on the ship has paid off at least a little - the bindings feel looser. She’s amazed that Mal didn’t notice at all as he dragged her here from where the ship landed, a few miles downstream. Old Mal would have known immediately that she was up to something. But this new Mal, this Mal who cares only about his messed-up idea of what’s good for Ravka, doesn’t know her anymore than she knows him. And for the first time, she’s grateful for that.

The bindings are looser, but not loose enough to slip off. If she can only work her fingers inside-

She looks over at the hunters. Their bows are strung. She can see them pulling arrows from their quivers, as the Apparat stands by, the knife he intends to use to finish the job clutched tightly at his side. She doesn’t have much time.

And she has to choose a target. Does she take down the bird, and seize the final amplifier? Or does she preserve this beautiful, ancient creature, and take down the hunters instead? Is she that callous, to choose a magical being over human lives? But taking down the bird, taking the amplifier, now just feels sickening. Wrong.

Just a little more maneuvering - the knot is loose now.

And the arrows are notched and ready. The hunters are taking aim.

The bird shrieks, and falls into a dive. It knows what they’re here to do.

One more wiggle, and she’s free.

Alina raises her hands, has the firebird in her sights-

When a Cut tears across her vision, bringing the firebird down.

Her vision blurs, and all she can think is _no no no no no not again he can’t no no no no_. Sick dread fills her body and her mind at the knowledge of what must be coming next. Screams ring in her ears, echoing her own panic.

It’s only when firm hands close on her shoulders and a familiar voice - his voice - is speaking in her ear that she realizes the screams are coming from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: Since the Darkling doesn't totally disfigure Genya in this story, I needed some other impetus for Genya & David to get together, so I decided to have them work together to create this device that ultimately helps the Darkling and Nikolai find Alina. Because clearly the way to David's heart is through his lab?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any Mal fans out there who are still reading this - sorry.
> 
> Warning - the end of this chapter is a bit gory. It's important for the storyline and the characters, but if blood grosses you out, just take care. <3
> 
> I continue to be BLOWN AWAY by all the wonderful comments - you guys are encouraging me to keep updating on a reasonably quick schedule (for me, at least), so thanks!!! <3

It’s strange, he thinks, as he pulls her into his arms. Her distress has never bothered him before.

Not when he slew the stag and clapped its antlers around her neck. Not when he condemned her tracker boyfriend to death on the Fold. Not when he watched one of his nichevo’ya bite her, when he had Ivan keep her unconscious, when he haunted her days and her dreams.

And yet, something has shifted. Because now her screams stir something inside him. He doesn’t like them.

Objectively, he considers, this is inconvenient. He has the opportunity; he has the final amplifier, lying not fifty feet away. He should just slap it on her and be done. Perhaps she’ll be able to fight off his hold over her; perhaps not. It doesn’t matter. She belongs to him; they both know it. It’s just a matter of time, and having another amplifier that’s tied to him clasped around her slender wrist will only help further that goal.

But he can’t. Not when she’s shaking in his arms, her sobs barely letting up as he pulls her to his chest. The idea of betraying this strange, fragile bond they’ve built sickens him, even as he recognizes that the firebird is the surest path to getting what he wants.

So instead, he finds himself whispering in her ear, “It’s your choice, Alina. I won’t force it on you.”

She stirs, turns in his arms to look at him. “You’re serious?” she asks, and he tries not to be hurt by the incredulity in her tone. Even after all this time, she still doesn’t trust him.

“Yes. If you want me to throw the carcass away, I will.” It’s almost a physical pain he feels, at the idea of discarding that much power, but he knows, deep in his soul, that she will never forgive him if he forces this on her again. And the centuries that stretch before them are a long time for her to hate him.

Her eyes search his for a long moment, barely blinking, presumably assessing how sincere he is.

And then he can’t bear it anymore, and it doesn’t matter that her husband is standing a few feet away, together with the grisha they brought along with them in their haste, the moment she showed up on the Fabrikator’s device, it doesn’t matter that they’re out here in the middle of nowhere in broad daylight - he takes her face in the hand that’s not already clutching her waist and he presses his lips to hers, staking his claim to her for all to see. She’s his, saints be damned, and he’s not going to lose her again.

For a moment, he wonders whether it’s possible to become drunk on a kiss. It feels as though the rest of the world is spinning away, leaving just the two of them floating here.

“Sasha?” She pulls away slightly, and her voice comes out low. She’s glowing faintly, he realizes. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Her words bring him back down to earth, and his grip tightens on her hip. “Let me prove it to you, Alina.”

Her mouth is opening, as if she’s about to say something, and he knows it’s going to be momentous, it’s going to change everything, when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He almost bites it off.

But then he realizes it’s Lantsov, and he’s come to know the young king well enough to believe that he wouldn’t interrupt without an excellent reason.

Nikolai stoops down and murmurs in his ear, “I realize that taking care of our Sun Summoner is of the utmost importance,” and his voice hardens, “but do you want to do something about the fact that our enemies are getting away?”

The Darkling barely keeps a curse from forcing its way out of his lips.

***

None of this makes any sense. When he took the firebird down, she already knew what would happen. After all, it's what he did before, with the stag.

He would hold her down and trap her wrist in another damned amplifier - and maybe the power of the other two would be enough to keep him from taking her over completely. Maybe she would be strong enough to fight him off this time. But the memory of his hands forcing sunlight out of her was enough to make her scream at the prospect of losing her will to his.

And then he held her in his arms, and told her it was her choice, and her mind started spinning. What possible reason could he have for holding back, when he has shown his need for power so many times before? Why not take what he wants, now that it’s within his grasp?

Then Nikolai spoke, and she realized that the Darkling was so focused on her, he didn’t give a thought to chasing down and destroying the rebels. The idea is almost inconceivable: the Darkling distracted from a task that he is committed to?

She stays on the ground, her arms wrapped around her legs, as he stands. She tries to ignore how cold and empty she suddenly feels, without the certainty of his arms around her.

The Darkling gathers a cloud of nichevo’ya around him, his eyes closed in concentration, and then sends them out to the north. Everyone is silent for several minutes, eyes following his creatures of darkness as they speed off into the distance. It’s odd: they still look and feel horrible and unnatural, but where she once found them terrifying, she now finds their presence strangely comforting. They’re on her side, now - a wall of protection between her and those who wish to harm them.

But when they reappear in the distance, the Darkling’s face sours, and her heart sinks. They failed. The men who kidnapped her are still at large. They must have made it to their flying ship and out of the Darkling’s range before he could catch up to them.

And she knows what she needs to do, now.

“Put the amplifier on me.”

The Darkling looks at her sharply. His voice is quiet when he replies, “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She nods. “We need to stop them. If the amplifier will help us with that, then I’ll take the risk.”

He turns toward David, who - a little reluctantly, she notices - retrieves the bird’s corpse and sets to work butchering it. She hides her face in the Darkling’s kefta, not wanting to watch them tear apart this beautiful, ancient creature for its magic. She reminds herself that it was already dead, that not using it, now that it’s already been slaughtered, would be an even worse crime, but it’s not much comfort.

The Darkling’s arms surrounding her keep her from sinking to the ground from the weight of this decision she’s just made. She thinks - she hopes - that preventing Ravka from being further torn apart is worth the risk of losing herself to him. She hopes that she can trust him this much.

It feels like no time at all, before the Darkling is gently turning her around, and holding out her wrist for David to affix another sick piece of jewelry to her. He rubs her back softly as the Fabrikator works, and the contrast to the last time, when she was struggling desperately to get away from him, hits her hard. Has he really, honestly changed? Or has she just fallen for his lies and manipulations again? Is she just hastening Ravka’s undoing?

Her eyes meet Nikolai’s, and he must be able to see her uncertainty, because he takes her free hand in his and pulls her head to his chest. Even in her distraction, she doesn’t miss how close he’s now standing to the Darkling. Perhaps things really did change while she was gone.

And then David pulls away, and she realizes it’s done.

She looks up at the Darkling in confusion. It doesn’t feel any different, not the way the stag’s antlers and the sea whip’s scales had when they became extensions of her body.

The Darkling places his hands on her shoulders, and she can feel him reaching for her light, but nothing happens. Just to make sure, she reaches for it herself, and sunlight bursts from her fingertips.

She turns to face him. “But I don’t understand. Does that mean it’s not-”

He puts his hand on her lips to silence her and whispers urgently, “Not here.”

Louder, for the others to hear, he announces, “The Sun Summoner has been through a great ordeal. We will bring her back to the palace so she can rest.”

***

He doesn’t speak to her at all on the way back, so she watches the land below them pass as Zoya and Nadia expertly guide the Kingfisher back to the palace. They must have been practicing working with this strange vessel, she thinks absently.

Before long, they’re landing in the lake beside the Little Palace, and the Darkling is ushering her back toward her rooms. She doesn’t stop to think about the fact that Nikolai hasn’t intervened at all, that he seems content to let the Darkling take care of her.

And then the Darkling has brought her to her chambers, and he’s shut the door, and she suddenly feels herself pressed up against it, like he did on the night of the fete last year. But unlike that night, she now knows what she wants, and she isn’t afraid to ask for it.

His lips crash into hers, his hands find her waist and her ass, and words are coming out of his mouth that she can barely make out, words like “Alina, fuck” and “missed you” and “need you.” The warmth that courses through her body at his touch makes her shudder with want.

After a moment, he pulls back to look at her, and she likes the fact that, even in the throes of passion, he’s still stopping to make sure she’s alright with this.

“Sasha,” she groans, trying and failing to make her voice sound less desperate than she feels, “I need you. Inside me. Now.”

The sound he makes in response is nearly enough to make her lose it, right then and there. Then, without warning, he picks her up and throws her onto her bed, pulling her skirt up and immediately finding her sex with his hand, as his other hand reaches down her bodice and pinches a nipple.

The door opens, and Alina raises her head at the sound. The Darkling grunts and turns, too. Nikolai.

“I can come back later,” he remarks, his voice light, although Alina swears she can hear the hurt beneath his words.

She can’t let him leave like this. Besides, his presence is suddenly awakening desires she hadn’t previously considered, that she’s now desperate to try out.

She raises her head, and the Darkling pauses in his ministrations. “No, Kolya,” she declares, trying to make her voice sound as authoritative as possible. “Stay. Join us.”

Still he hesitates, until the Darkling snarls, “Your wife gave you an order. Get over here right now, you idiot boy, before I summon my nichevo’ya to drag you.”

Nikolai’s eyebrow quirks up. “Patient, isn’t he?”

Something in his boyish expression makes her smile, and she takes his hand as soon as he comes close enough. “Remember the first time we did this? Our wedding night?” she asks, a little tentatively. She’s not certain how he’s going to respond to this.

He nods.

“I want you to hold me, Kolya, while he fucks me. Like the Darkling held me before.”

He sucks in a breath and the Darkling, who has been hovering over her partly exposed body, growls again. Wordlessly, he lifts Alina to a seated position so Nikolai can climb onto the bed behind her. At the same time, the Darkling pulls off what remains of her dress and suckles forcefully on a breast.

“Fuck, Sasha,” she moans, as Nikolai’s hand comes around to finger her clit.

This isn’t that different from what they’ve done before, the three of them, but somehow, the knowledge that the Darkling is going to be the one fucking her this time, that he’s going to let himself be vulnerable enough to give her this, makes the room hum with energy. She feels herself melting into both men’s grips as they take her with their mouths and hands.

But they’re both still dressed. And she doesn’t want to allow the Darkling to keep this barrier up between them. “Sasha,” she instructs, “I want to see your body. Take your clothes off.”

He looks at her for a long moment, as if he’s trying to decide how much it would cost him to defy her. She wonders if he might actually walk out.

But then he’s pulling his shirt over his head, he’s pulling off his boots and standing to unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants, and finally she sees him, slim and bare and yet still exuding power, and it nearly takes her breath away.

Behind her, she feels Nikolai shakily inhale. Apparently he’s not unaffected by the sight, either.

The Darkling smirks down at her, and she answers with her own smile. They’re actually going to do this, after months of dancing around it, and her stomach clenches in excited anticipation. He kneels on the bed, and she spreads her thighs to accommodate him.

He’s poised above her, ready to enter, and yet he still stops to look at her, his eyebrows rising in soft concern. “Are you sure, Alina?”

She nods and pulls his lips down to hers as he slides inside her and fills her up.

Nikolai’s fingers never stop moving on her clit, and he murmurs in her ear, “Tell us to stop anytime you need to, Alina.”

But stopping is the last thing on her mind as the Darkling fills her over and over again, and Nikolai’s fingers bring her closer and closer to ecstasy. It’s intoxicating, the feeling of being sandwiched between these two men, in the middle of their strong, firm bodies. The Darkling’s mouth claiming hers mercilessly, his hands caressing her breasts and her ass. Nikolai’s hard cock jutting into her back as he sucks on her neck.

Almost without warning, her orgasm slams into her, dragging the Darkling along with her. And at that moment, she decides there’s nothing more satisfying than watching him completely lose control, his face contorted as he surrenders to pleasure. Even if she watches this every day for a thousand years, she thinks she’ll never get sick of it.

Then he rolls off of her. She collapses into Nikolai’s arms as the Darkling moves to lie beside them both. This is heaven, she thinks idly, as they lie together, breathing heavily, none of them daring to speak.

Then the Darkling does something entirely unexpected. He takes Nikolai’s face in his hands and drags the younger man’s lips down to meet his own.

After a minute, he pulls away to look at her. “Alina,” he murmurs, “I think your husband is feeling a little neglected. Would you like to touch him while I suck him off?”

And oh saints, oh fuck, the idea had never occurred to her before, but now it hits her like a galloping horse, kissing her handsome husband and touching his chest, sucking on his nipples while the Darkling tastes him.

But Nikolai seems uncertain. “You’re honestly going to subject her to this? This was something that never should have happened in the first place. There’s no reason to repeat it with Alina here.” He glances over at her, then continues, “I’m fine. It’s not like I’ve never dealt with a hard-on before.”

Something that never should have happened in the first place? So her instinct was right. Something did happen between them while she was gone. Perhaps she should be angry and jealous. Isn’t that how a wife is supposed to react in this kind of situation? And yet it seems this is only serving to turn her on further. What a fucking mess.

The Darkling looks back at her and raises an eyebrow. “Does the idea bother you, Alina?”

She meets his gaze boldly. “No. I’d like to watch.”

She hears Nikolai inhale sharply, but he finally nods his assent.  The Darkling grins and then crawls down Nikolai’s body to pull his breeches off, as Alina does the same with his shirt.

Then her husband is bare and breathing heavily, and she watches intently as the Darkling lowers his lips onto her husband's cock, taking it into his mouth a little at a time. She can see the way the Darkling’s tongue dances over Nikolai’s dark red length as he slowly sucks him down.

Nikolai’s chest feels delicious under her hands, and she can’t stop herself from lowering her mouth to suck on a nipple. The moan he makes in response goes straight to her core.

It feels so different, the two of them working together to pleasure Nikolai. Focusing so intently on his reactions, the noises he makes, the way he twitches and jerks at each touch, feels so intimate - and makes her feel so powerful. She thinks she understands now why the Darkling enjoys taking on this role in their bedroom games - it’s a rush.

As if he hears her thoughts, the Darkling stops sucking Nikolai long enough to meet her eyes. Her husband moans below her at the absence of his lover’s mouth, and suddenly an even more wanton thought enters her mind. Well, she’s gone this far already - why not take it all the way?

One of her hands slides down to touch her sex, a finger lightly caressing her clit. The Darkling nods in encouragement, then returns to his own task, making Nikolai moan even harder.

When she’s really rubbing herself in earnest, the way she does when she’s alone and feeling no shame, one hand now running over her breasts and pinching her nipples lightly, the Darkling raises his head again and tells Nikolai, “Look how much your wife enjoys watching you get off, Lantsov. She’s going to make herself come again.”

And then his head is back on Nikolai’s dick, and she can feel the moment he falls apart, his body jerking wildly under her, the Darkling’s cheeks hollowing as he swallows the king’s seed. It’s so arousing, she can’t help it - her fingers speed up, and she follows a few seconds later, falling back heavily against Nikolai’s chest as she rides out the last few spasms.

After a few seconds, the Darkling crawls up to hold her from behind, as she snuggles against Nikolai’s chest. There are no clothes between them this time, although at some point one of them pulls up a blanket to keep off the late winter chill that has begun to creep into the room.

Part of her wants to tell them how right this feels, how much she loves this - to bring them both into this warm feeling she has - but something stops her from saying it out loud. Something inside her knows that putting it into words would change things, and she wants things to stay just the way they are at this moment, for as long as she can hold onto them.

***

After their tryst, the Darkling disappears again. Alina goes down to the Little Palace more than once, searching for an answer about the third amplifier, and all she finds is an immovable Ivan, who tells her cryptically that the Darkling is “out.”

But her wrist aches. It itches. It’s wrong, it doesn’t send power coursing through her like the one at her neck and on her other wrist do. She needs answers, now, or she’s going to lose her mind.

On the third day, finally despairing of finding him, she goes to the one other person she can think of who might have an answer for her.

The hut is still too hot and close, and the moment she enters, that old, familiar voice calls out, “Stop letting all the warm air out the door!”

She closes the door behind her, and takes the old woman’s hand. “Baghra.”

The grisha immediately flinches and shakes her off. “I thought I told you not to come around here anymore, girl.”

Alina sighs. She certainly expected a hostile reaction - although perhaps not one quite this virulent. “I know. But I need your help, Baghra.”

The woman snorts. “Why not go ask my son? Your lover boy?”

Alina stiffens, and the old woman laughs. Apparently she can feel a lot, even though she can’t see anymore. Then her voice turns serious. “I warned you about him, didn’t I? He was manipulating girls like you before your grandparents were born. You think he’ll change, and you’ll always be disappointed.”

Something in the old woman’s words rubs Alina wrong. The Darkling is her son, after all - why does she so stubbornly refuse to believe that change might be possible? Perhaps he hasn’t given her a reason to see him differently, but that doesn’t mean she should stop hoping.

“He’s different.” Her voice comes out soft, contemplative. “Something’s changed in him.” She pauses, rubbing the firebird’s bones circling her wrist. “He didn’t force the amplifier on me, this time. He gave me a choice. I took it, thinking it would be best for Ravka.”

Baghra scoffs, but she doesn’t respond. Alina chooses to take this as a good sign.

“But it doesn’t matter anyways, because the amplifier doesn’t work. It has no effect on my power, as far as I can tell. Sasha-” She almost imagines Baghra’s eyebrow rising at her slip, but the old woman doesn’t acknowledge the error. “-The Darkling,” she tries again, “tried to drag my power out of me, and it had no effect.”

A gnarled hand shoots out to grasp Alina’s, and although she knows the old woman can’t see, it feels as though she’s examining it. Perhaps she is - only not with her eyes.

Finally, she laughs again. “You foolish girl, this isn’t an amplifier. It has no more value than a saint’s relic a beggar might sell you in a village church. I don’t know what convinced you that putting this on would give you power.”

Alina snatches her wrist away, and realizes she has no response. Of course the old woman is right. How could she be so stupid, to think that finding the firebird would solve all of their problems? Maybe that crazy old grisha, Morozova, only made two amplifiers, and the third one simply doesn’t exist. Maybe some other hunter, centuries ago, shot down the real firebird, and it’s lost to time. It doesn’t matter why - the bone around her wrist is useless.

And yet, something about how its weight feels on her hand makes her reluctant to tear it off.

***

If he were a different sort of man, the Darkling might have felt embarrassed at the idea of having spent the last six hours hiding in his own closet. But he’s been alive for long enough to know that when you want something done well, you have to do it yourself.

The rebels had already come here and stolen documents. It would only be a matter of time before their little mole came back, and when they did, he would be ready for them.

Ivan had been telling people for several days now that the Darkling was away, and he had been making himself scarce, secreting himself in various corners around the Little Palace, hoping to catch this spy in the act.

Now he’s in his own rooms, and he has a strong feeling that someone will appear any minute now. He hasn’t survived for hundreds of years without knowing when to listen to his own instincts.

A sound echoes through the empty room: a window being opened. The Darkling sends three nichevo’ya out into the room - one to approach the intruder from each side. He will not give whoever this is any opportunity for escape.

Three more seconds… two… one… and the nichevo’ya closest to the burglar snaps its legs closed around the rebel, as the other two hover nearby, menacing. The Darkling steps out of the closet to take a good look at whoever dared to enter the lair of the beast.

And stiffens when he recognizes the man he’s caught in his web. Alina will not like this.

The tracker struggles against the nichevo’ya’s grip, but says nothing. What is there to say? He’s been caught red-handed.

The Darkling approaches, reaching out a hand to pull the ot’kazatsya's face closer to his own. He wonders, as he looks at the young man’s still boyish features, feels his smooth skin under his fingers, what Alina sees in him. They grew up together - he can understand that bond, at least on an intellectual level - but why is she so fixated on him still? Another of her mysteries that he loves even as they drive him insane.

But that’s something to ponder another time. There’s a traitor to be dealt with now, and the Darkling is not in the mood to be generous.

“What were you looking for?” He has no need for volume right now; a soft, dangerous voice will be much more intimidating, he knows from experience.

“Nothing,” the boy spits, still struggling in the Darkling’s grip.

The Darkling smirks and shakes his head, as if the tracker has disappointed him. “Wrong answer, boy.” He glances up at the hovering nichevo’ya, then back down at the tracker. “You remember how unpleasant Alina’s confrontation with one of my nichevo’ya was, do you not?”

The boy swallows. The Darkling has made him nervous. Good.

“You’re going to tell me what I want to know, or I promise that the bite she received will look merciful, compared to what these creatures are going to do to you.” Even in the dim twilight that barely makes its way into the room through the open window, the Darkling can see the tracker’s eyes widen. “So I’ll ask one more time: what were you looking for?”

“Nothing.” His voice is still firm.

Too bad. The Darkling was hoping he could get the information he wants by persuasion alone, without hurting the boy. Not because he himself minds hurting the boy - quite the contrary - but because he knows Alina won’t be pleased with him when she finds out.

But the boy leaves him no choice. Oh well.

One of the nichevo’ya dives down and bites the tracker on the neck - not hard, not enough to make him pass out, but hard enough to make him scream. The Darkling sends out tendrils of shadow to stop up the cracks in the walls and doors and block the noise. The last thing he needs is the entire Little Palace coming in and finding out what he’s up to.

The Darkling grips the tracker’s chin tighter, forcing the boy’s eyes to meet his. “Let’s try that again. What were you sent here to find?”

The boy grinds his teeth. “Nothing.”

Stubborn.

A few months ago, he would have taken advantage of the boy’s fixation with Alina in a heartbeat. Threats to loved ones are always more effective than physical pain.

But now, he wonders whether the tracker would even be tempted to betray this idiotic cause of his to ensure Alina’s safety. After all, he didn’t seem to care much for her well-being when he kidnapped her and turned her over to people who would rather see her dead than her power in his hands.

He sighs. “This is a waste of my time. Beg for the queen’s forgiveness and see if she’ll take pity on you.”

He turns to leave, waving a hand as he does, and the nichevo’ya descend on the tracker, his screams ringing in the Darkling’s ears until the door closes and cuts off the sound completely.

***

The days feel even longer than they did before, if that’s even possible. Dealing with the aftermath of the rebels’ escape has made audiences and council meetings even more of a headache than they already were.

Alina is beside him today, sitting in the throne beside his as they deal with the morning’s business. She insisted, after she had recovered enough from her imprisonment, that she needed to be informed about what was going on, and Nikolai finally relented.

And he’s forced to admit that after weeks of her absence, it’s comforting to have her up here with him, at his side, within his sight.

The current petitioner lost his land in the most recent expansion of the Fold, a few months ago. Given that the Fold is still a sore spot for many of his subjects, and a likely reason for defecting to the rebellion, Nikolai grants the petitioner’s request for compensation without much argument. The petty nobleman turns to leave, and as he does, the doors at the end of the hall open, revealing the Darkling, followed by several of his oprichniki.

Nikolai tries to keep his surprise in check. It’s unusual for the Darkling to show up in the throne room, unless he’s been summoned to a council meeting.

But the reason for the Darkling’s sudden appearance quickly becomes clear, when Nikolai notices who is being dragged along between two oprichniki, his face torn up, and generally looking like he was just run over by a carriage.

Alina recognizes him at the same moment Nikolai does, and his heart breaks at that little syllable that comes whispering off her lips - Mal - because he already knows this is not going to end well.

The Darkling stops before the dais and sketches a barely adequate bow. It’s only for the benefit of the guards; they hardly bother with such formalities among themselves anymore.

Then the guards push Oretsev forward, in front of the Darkling.

“I found this young man breaking into my quarters, Your Majesties. I was unable to get any information out of him-” and the Darkling glances significantly at the boy’s torn up appearance, before turning back to them “-but I suspect he was spying for the rebellion. What would you like me to do with him?”

Nikolai takes a deep breath before he turns to Alina. This is the key - will she be willing to make an example of Mal, in order to make a show of strength before their subjects? Or will the soft spot she has for Oretsev doom them all?

Her expression is hard, tight, giving nothing away. She sits perfectly still for a long moment.

Then she stands, walks down to Mal, and tilts his head up to look at her. Nikolai can see blood rubbing off onto her fingers when she touches him. The king examines her closely, looking for any sign of softness or pity. He can tell nothing.

“Know that this was not my choice, Mal. You forced me into this.”

Then she turns to Nikolai, her eyes now blazing. He’s never seen this kind of power in her before, and it’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

“Have the guards bring the prisoner into the main courtyard, Nikolai, and have them fetch me a knife.”

***

She loves him, her heart reminds her twenty thousand times in the half-hour between the moment Mal walked into the throne room and the moment Nikolai tells her they’re ready for her in the courtyard. She loved him so much she thought her heart might burst from it. And in return? All he’s done is betray and betray and betray her.

She thinks back on the moment she thought he was lost to her, out on the Fold. When the idea that she might have to live the rest of her life without him ripped into her soul and dragged out a power she didn’t know she had.

She remembers those days and nights on the ship to Novyi Zem, when they thought it would be just the two of them forever.  When they thought they were free.

She remembers him finding the sea whip in order to keep the Darkling from hurting her.

But she also remembers him getting drunk and fighting with her and treating her like an object to be protected instead of a person to share his life with. A person whose wishes for her own life mattered.

She remembers that utterly helpless feeling when she realized he had drugged her. When he brought her in front of a group of men who didn’t care whether she lived or died.

When he fucking dragged her by her bound hands to be made into a sacrificial lamb for his stupid fucking cause.

She didn’t even need to look at Nikolai and the Darkling to know what they thought. Sparing him would have grave consequences for their rule. For the country.

It would tell everyone that their rulers are too weak to deal with a threat properly. That rebels will receive a slap on the wrist instead of the full force of the law. It would be an invitation to civil war.

She knows what she needs to do.  But she will never be alright after this. She knows this already. In doing this, she will be sacrificing her soul for the sake of Ravka.

And she’s willing to make that trade.

Nikolai and the Darkling are already in the courtyard, waiting, when she walks outside. As Nikolai hands her the knife she had requested, he whispers, “You don’t have to do this yourself. The guards are fully capable of carrying this out without you having to even look.”

She shakes her head. “I owe it to him to do this by my own hand.” And she takes the knife from Nikolai, and walks toward Mal where he is bound and kneeling over a block in the center of the courtyard.

She approaches him, and allows herself a moment to look at him. He’s blindfolded, which she thinks is a mercy, so he doesn’t know she’s here now. His breathing comes shallow and quick. Despite himself, he’s afraid.

She bends down, and smooths a hand over his hair. She doesn’t care who sees - let them judge if they dare. And she realizes then that, despite everything that’s happened between them, she doesn’t want his last impression of her to be that of an avenging queen - she wants him to know her as they knew each other in their earliest memories. So she leans down and murmurs into his ear, “I’m sorry, Mal. I love you.”

And he doesn’t respond - doesn’t fight it, doesn’t say he loves her too, doesn’t bother to tell her why he betrayed her.

And that stings.Part of her wants to wait for him to acknowledge her, to say something back.Butshe knows, if she doesn’t do it now, she’ll never do it. She smooths his hair back once more and uses it to pull his head up so his neck is exposed. Then she steadies the knife in her hand and slices clean across it.

And as his blood spills over her hands and he slowly stops writhing beneath her, she feels power that she’s never felt before course through her. Suddenly, the entire courtyard is illuminated in blinding sunlight, and she doesn’t know how, but she realizes that somehow, Mal’s death activated the final amplifier.

Then, the light is too much, and she finds herself falling into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All seriousness aside, the Darkling totally WOULD hide in a closet for hours just so he can step out dramatically and scare the sh*t out of someone. CreeperDarkling is the best Darkling and no one can convince me otherwise.


	7. Chapter 7

The Darkling almost never dreams, these days. Perhaps it’s because he seldom allows himself to sleep long or deeply, his periods of rest only the minimum length required to keep him alive, and then it’s back to reading reports and conferring with his spies and top lieutenants and keeping himself informed on everything that goes on in every inch of Ravka - and a fair amount of its neighbors’ territory, besides.

But tonight he does. Because it’s easy to feel safe and relaxed here, tangled in his lovers’ arms, listening to the slow, even sounds of their breathing beside him.

His dreams have never been pleasant. The weight of several centuries’ worth of poor choices and near misses ensures that.

Just as soon as his dream-self’s eyes open onto the snowy landscape, swathed in the near-total darkness of late evening in winter, he knows that he’s dreaming. But that knowledge doesn’t give him the power to stop the horrible events that he knows are coming from running their course.

The memory is from early in his time as Darkling, when he was still filled with youth and vigor and naive optimism, only a few years after he petitioned the fool - as he later learned - who occupied the throne at the time to allow him to gather an army of grisha to serve the crown. Before the Little Palace was its current size, when it was a seldom-used outbuilding on the palace grounds that the king allowed him to use as a workshop and school. Back when he still had hope that he could work together with the _ot’kazatsya_ to create a world that was safe for grisha.

He had traveled to Fjerda, hoping to offer protection to whatever grisha he could find there, and recruit them for his growing army. He liked to travel alone in those days, just himself and his black mare - a fine lineage he had kept going for a couple of centuries, until incompetent palace horse breeders allowed the line to die out during one of his faked deaths. He still prefers to travel alone, of course, but these days, it’s more difficult to maintain his aura of mystery without a full entourage following him around.

The grisha he had been tracking was a powerful Inferni - a group he still had relatively few of, at the time, which made him all the more eager to convince her to come with him. He can still see her when he closes his eyes, as she appeared at her cottage door earlier that day: the yellow hair of her country, bound up in practical braids; striking grey eyes; a wan, haunted look to her, from years of suppressing her talent; a baby bouncing on her hip.

She had refused him, of course, as many of his targets did. She was a wife and mother, she told him, and she had no interest in leaving that life behind. And besides, she scoffed, she had survived for twenty years without attracting the attention of the  _drüskelle_ \- there was no reason to believe she wouldn’t continue to escape their notice.

But he hadn’t wanted to leave it at that. He had to be able to convince her that she was made for more than the role of a farmer’s wife. So he had come back that night - to do what, he wasn’t completely certain. Say something persuasive that he hadn’t thought of at first? Tempt her with a stolen kiss, perhaps the promise of more?

And that’s where the dream begins. The smell of smoke in the pine forest. The sounds of dozens of pairs of boots crunching through the icy snow. Voices raised.

He dismounts, approaches on foot, wanting the advantage of stealth. His emotions are vivid, even heightened, in the dream - apprehension, and then the chill of fear when he hears the Fjerdan word: _drusje_. Witch.

Somehow he understands that he is responsible. That his presence must have alerted someone to her, brought the witch-hunters down onto her. Maybe it was the husband she refused to leave, or a nosy neighbor.

Whoever was responsible, she’s now tied to a stake in the center of the village square, branches piled up at her feet, villagers with torches rapidly approaching. Approaching faster than he can get there.

He sends out tendrils of shadow, to wrap around legs and arms and throats. He breaks into a run. He can reach her in time. He can see her react to his approach, she’s shouting at him, but he can’t hear the words - is she begging him to save her? Telling him to leave her village in peace? Even these _ot’kazatsya_ who are bent on destroying her?

But it doesn’t matter. One of the torches meets the pyre and it erupts in flames, and no matter how many shadows he tries to use to suffocate the blaze, it only seems to burn brighter.

So he’s left standing at the edge of the village square, with a choice. Does he leave, cut his losses, try to save the next grisha in the next village? Or does he take out his wrath on this ignorant, hateful farmers?  Show them what happens to those who persecute grisha?

He wakes then, but of course he knows how the story ends. Even now, hundreds of years later, he can still feel the rage that coursed through him, the sick rush of Cutting and suffocating and taking down fifty poorly armed farmers at once. He can still see the square after he had finished, lit by the cooling embers on the pyre, bodies strewn across the ground like the ending of a cheap tragedy put on at Midwinter.

He knows precisely why his centuries-old awareness brought this image to him tonight. Because yes, this time, he managed to save Alina from her attackers. But what about the next time? Will he always manage to get to her in time?

And Fjerda has been on his mind a great deal lately, as well. His agents currently believe that the rebels have been offered refuge in the Ice Court. And there have been worrying sightings of unfamiliar military technology, reports of grisha being seized and taken across the border by squads of _drüskelle_ with new weapons. Something is brewing between Ravka and her northern neighbor, and the Darkling fully intends to be ready when it comes knocking.

But for now, he pulls Alina a little closer to him, her body warm and supple in his arms. Nikolai breathes deeply, his sleep peaceful on her other side. He won’t let anything happen to her. Not while he still has life and power in him.

***

Every day now is a dizzying whirl of emotions for Alina. Guilt and hurt and loss over Mal’s death, that hits her like a brick when she wakes up and lingers as a dull ache throughout the day, flaring up in quiet moments or whenever something reminds her of him. Worry over the fact that the men who held her hostage are still at large. Exhilaration every time she Summons, the new power in her third amplifier causing the light to rip through her and explode out into the world, unchecked, seemingly limitless.

But today, instead of testing the extents of her power, she’s working with the Darkling on control.Creating a thin, precisely aimed beam of light.Sending light through an intricate series of mirrors.Honing her ability to bend light around objects and effectively turn them invisible.

The work is difficult, and demands a great deal of concentration.Alina loses track of time, and it’s not she can see the sun sinking over the lake through the wide windows in the Darkling’s office that, exhausted, she leans against his desk and meets his gaze across the room.

“Satisfied?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow. This is a far cry from her earliest lessons here, where she couldn’t summon at all without his or Baghra’s help.

He hums noncommittally. “The light is still telling you what to do. It should be the other way around. You need more practice controlling it, harnessing it to your desires.”

She frowns. “I have plenty of control. You’re just overly critical.”

His eyes pin her to his desk. “These exercises may mean the difference between life and death. You can’t lose control in a battle, especially of as much raw power as you have. You should know that by now.”

She finds herself growing irritated. While his guidance is usually helpful, his overbearing attitude still rubs her the wrong way. Just because he has centuries of experience doesn’t automatically make him the expert on Sun Summoning.

If she were feeling more tolerant, perhaps she might have saved her question for a better time. But she’s frustrated with him, and she’s still overwhelmed by everything that’s happened over the last few weeks, and her patience has worn thin. So it comes out of her mouth despite herself, faster and louder than she intended.

“I want to go back to the Fold. I think I can close it this time.”

His voice is a little too calm, she thinks. “No. We already made a path. Shipments can get through. And you’re needed here.”

She glares at him now. “I have enough power now to fix the gash _you_ tore in the middle of our country, that’s kept us weak for centuries, and you’re telling me you can’t bother to spare me for a few days? Do you actually care about Ravka at all?”

His face remains impassive, but somehow there’s menace in his movements as he approaches her. He places his hands on the desk, on either side of her, caging her in.

“I care about Ravka,” he responds, his voice low and dangerous. “Which is why I’m not sending you to close the Fold. Fjerda and Shu Han are still potential threats.  We need assurance that we won’t be overpowered, and the Fold can provide that.”

She stares up at him in horror. “After all this - after all we’ve been through - you’re still planning to use the Fold as a fucking _weapon_?” Nausea rolls through her, and she feels the sudden need to get out of here. She tries to push past him, but his arms stay firmly planted on the desk.

“You think Nikolai wouldn’t say the same thing? I’m not going to expand the Fold if we don’t need to, Alina, but I intend to keep it open to us, as an option.”

“You’re disgusting.” She can’t believe she’s allowed herself to forget this. That sleeping with him has made her forget his nature. “These are people’s lives we’re talking about, not pawns on a chessboard.”

His face is inches from her own. “Yes, Alina, these _are_ people’s lives we’re talking about. That’s why I’m not giving up any advantage Ravka has right now. Because we might not find ourselves in such a strong position again.”

His hand moves to cup her jaw. “I wish you would trust me, Alina, instead of always fighting against me.”

“I wish you would give me a reason to trust you, Sasha.” Her voice comes out as a sigh, more wistful than she intends. “Instead of giving me so many reasons why I shouldn’t.”

He looks at her for a long moment, his eyes fixed on hers. Then, finally, he growls, “fuck,” and takes her lips in his own.

She hates it. She hates that he thinks he can drive away her anger with the crackling chemistry between their bodies. She pulls away, eyes blazing. “Fuck you, Sasha. You think I’m going to give in just because you’re kissing me? You think I’m that weak?”

He studies her. It’s unnerving, how easily he can switch from full-on lust back to calm and calculating. She’s still breathing heavily, while his body is completely still.

Finally, he shrugs. “I don’t expect you to do anything, solnishka. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that you never do what I expect.” His hand trails down her neck, skimming over the stag’s antlers, and back up to her jaw, and despite herself, she leans into his touch.

“I think you want this, little saint.” Her eyes snap back to his. “I’m sure we’ll have this argument several more times before we reach a resolution, but right now, I’d rather be fucking you.”

She shivers at his words. Yes, they’ve gone to bed together several times at this point, but she’s still not used to the naked want that’s coming off of him right now in waves. It scares her, a little.

“What about Nikolai?” Something to return her to sense, to keep this at bay.

He smirks. “If he stops by, he’s welcome to join in.”

His other hand, the one that’s not currently cupping her face, moves to her hip. He’s close enough that she can feel his erection pressing into her stomach, his breath mingling with hers, even as their mouths don’t quite touch.

She can’t fight the gravity of it. She’s not sure she wants to, at this point.

She moves forward a little, their lips are touching again, and he’s off like an Inferni’s spark, mouth and hands everywhere, pushing her back against the desk, then lifting her so she’s sitting on top of it, and he’s standing between her spread thighs, the gown she’s wearing ruched up obscenely around her waist.

“I want you back in my color,” he’s growling, as he moves her skirt higher. “You should be dressed as the powerful grisha you are, not a weak _ot’kazatsya_ princess.”

She laughs. “You really hate anything you can’t control, don’t you?” But perhaps she will show up for her next lesson in a black kefta, just to drive him mad. The thought makes the blood pump even harder through her veins, makes her breath come faster.

His mouth is on her neck now, right above the collar, his hands on a bare hip and on a breast, under her bodice that has somehow come undone. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to control you, solnishka,” he whispers against her skin.

And it’s too much.She needs him right now.Frantically, her hands fumble with the buttons of his kefta.He reaches down to help, and soon she’s shoving it off his shoulders and reaching down for the placket of his breeches.The moment she gets him free, her hand moves to guide him inside her.

And then he’s fucking her, as she sits perched on the edge of his desk, his thrusts so powerful, she has to keep herself upright by leaning back on her hands.  His mouth falls to one breast, and then the other, his thumb finding her clit and sending her higher.

One of her hands hits a sheaf of papers, and sends them tumbling to the ground. A laugh bubbles up in her throat - this really is ridiculous - but he turns it into a moan when his tongue circles one of her nipples.

“Come for me, solnishka,” he murmurs against her breast, and fuck if that doesn’t send her over the edge, shaking and tensing around his cock, and he comes with a growl a few seconds after, pulsing hard into her.

Then he’s hauling her up against his chest, and holding her there, his hold firm but also oddly tender.They don’t move or speak for several minutes, their hard breathing the only sound in the room.

She brings her lips up to his again, a soft, gentle kiss. He responds only enough to meet her, not pushing, not taking, just accepting what she has to give. When she pulls away again, she studies him, her hand rising to his cheek, and he waits for her to find whatever she’s looking for.

“Sasha…” she begins, then shakes her head. She’s not even sure where to begin.

He places his hand on top hers, as it rests on his face, and his mouth twists up the tiniest amount.“Alina, before you, the only person I’ve ever had to compromise with is my mother, and you know what she’s like.”

She has to smile back, a little. Compromising with Baghra would be like trying to compromise with a tree - you can talk to it all you want, but it will never move an inch.

He sighs, and pulls away from her slightly, giving her enough room to hop back down from the desk and smooth her skirts down, as he buttons up his pants. She knows she’ll be feeling him dripping down her leg all evening, but she’s not at all certain that she minds.

He meets her eyes again. “I’m trying, Alina. I want to work with you, not against you.” He sighs. “But understand that I have been working to protect grisha for a long time. To protect Ravka.”

She’s tempted to scoff. Just because he’s older, he’s still convinced that he knows better? But the look in his eyes right now is so open, so sincere, that she can’t keep up the argument today. Tomorrow they’ll probably pick up right where they left off, both stubbornly convinced of their own positions, but for now? She’ll leave things where they stand.

She presses one more kiss to his lips, then steps around him, to meet her husband for dinner.

***

Nikolai knows he should go to bed soon. Alina is waiting, perhaps the Darkling is, too - or perhaps they’ve already begun without him, he thinks with a grimace - and there’s no reason for him to stay up, agonizing over the reports coming from Fjerda.

But it’s difficult to relax, knowing that the men who kidnapped Alina are still out there. Knowing that they might try to steal her again. Knowing that his own brother leads them.

Nikolai leans back in his chair, with a sigh. He's still amazed that Alina was willing to kill Mal, for the sake of maintaining order in the country.  He can still clearly see her sure steps and movements, her confidence, even as she did what he imagines must have been the most difficult thing she’s ever had to do. He wonders if he'll have that strength.

Will he be able to kill his own brother? Sentence Vasily to death, and carry it out himself? Sure, they’ve never really gotten along, but they’re still blood. Kin. His mother, if he ever sees her again, will never forgive him.

But if he isn’t willing to, then he might as well hang a “Welcome” sign outside the palace, for the message letting his brother live would send.He gave his brother mercy once, and the idiot spat on it.There are no second chances, in this kind of game.So Nikolai needs to steel himself to the deed now, if he wants to maintain control.

A knock on the door; Nikolai looks up. The Darkling sidles inside, takes a seat in the chair across the desk from his own.  It’s remarkable the degree to which, in the few months they’ve been ruling together, the Darkling has made himself at home in here.Nikolai is still undecided as to whether he likes it or not.

Nikolai laces his fingers together and leans his elbows on the desk in front of him. “What brings you here?”

“Our Sun Summoner has decided she wants to close the Fold.”

Nikolai raises an eyebrow. “And? I take it you have some issue with this plan.”

The Darkling fixes him with his icy gaze. “You’ve seen the same reports I have. We need as many advantages as we can take, if we’re going to stand a chance against Fjerda.”

Nikolai laughs. “So you’re coming to me because you want me to back you up in battle against Alina? Sorry, but I’m staying neutral on this one. You two can fight it out without my help.”

“You’re not going to take Alina’s side and insist on destroying it?” The Darkling seems genuinely puzzled. Nikolai is tempted to congratulate himself - since when has he ever managed to surprise the grisha?

He shakes his head.  “No. I got what I wanted when you created a path. I don’t see what destroying it at this point would gain us, other than a populace that may start feeling a little too comfortable with our rule. If we can get goods and people through, then a bit of healthy fear isn’t a bad thing.”

The Darkling chuckles. Nikolai can’t decide whether he finds the sound simply odd or completely unnerving. “I’m always surprised to find how similar we are, Lantsov. Sometimes I think you resemble the monster in the woods more than the fairytale prince.”

***

The last time Zoya spoke with the Darkling alone, she left his office in tears. He can tell that the memory is still fresh, as she enters warily, even through an outer layer of confidence. She picks her way to the chair in front of his desk and sits, fluffing out her robes so they land just so. Her rouged lips are just slightly pursed, as she waits for him to explain why he summoned her here.

He leans back in his chair. She’s been nothing but loyal up to this point, but he wants to make it perfectly clear to her who has the power now.

“I have a job for you.”

A slim black eyebrow rises. “Oh? I thought you were just planning on having me ferry the king around Ravka for the rest of my days.”

He narrows his eyes. She can’t possibly think that he’ll accept that kind of insubordination without consequence. “As a member of the Second Army, you do whatever your commanding officer tells you.”

“Of course, _moi soverenyi_.” She inclines her head just enough, but her words sound anything but sincere.

He studies her.Is it really wise, to entrust this vain, selfish girl with this task? Maybe he should choose someone with a more pliable temperament. But then he catches sight of that spark again, and he knows this assignment can go to no one but her.

“You’ve heard the news from Fjerda? About the  _drüskelle_?”

Her expression is unreadable. “I’ve heard that they’ve crossed the border several times, yes.”

He nods. “Then you know why we need a force to match them. I need someone out there, finding grisha before they can, and bringing them back to the Little Palace, to join the Second Army.  We need as many reinforcements as we can get.”

She’s silent for a long moment. This is where, he realizes, he’ll learn what he needs to know. Either she’ll take on this responsibility as an honor, or…

“I’ll do it.” Her response is sharp and decisive.

He moves a sheaf of papers toward her. “You have the funds listed in these documents, and I’ll spare you whatever grisha you want for your team, within reason.”

She takes the papers and examines them, her expression focused. He chose well, he decides, watching her. She will take this responsibility seriously, and she will do a good job.

Finally, she looks up. “How long do I have to assemble my team, and prepare for departure?”

“I’d like you to be ready to depart in a week.”

And it’s as simple as that - she nods, stands, and leaves the room, presumably to do whatever she needs to get ready to leave.

He’s pleased to be setting another plan in motion. This might make little difference, might do nothing to stop the Fjerdans - and yet, if it ends up snatching even one more powerful grisha out of the hands of the _drüskelle_ and adding their strength to the Second Army, then it will have been worth it.

***

“Well, this will certainly make a statement, if that’s what you’re going for.” Genya’s eyebrows rise halfway to her forehead as she holds out the black kefta with gold embellishments Alina set aside to wear today.

Alina shrugs. “I want people to remember that I’m not just a nice thing to look at during court events.”

Genya chuckles. “I don’t know that anyone’s forgotten about your abilities, but this will certainly remind them.” She pauses, and looks at Alina more closely. “Or did you have a more specific target in mind?”

Alina feels her cheeks turning pink. Sometimes she wishes Genya were less observant. “This is about my image at court, Genya, and nothing else.”

Genya laughs again. “Alright, but keep in mind that court gossip isn’t completely blind to reality. Anytime someone starts spending time outside their own bed, even if that someone is unusually… shall we say, enigmatic, tongues begin to wag. If you show up in public wearing his colors, people will talk.”

Alina scowls, and is about to say something snippy when suddenly, for no reason that she can determine, a wave of nausea hits her. She barely makes it to the basin, when what feels like her entire breakfast is coming back up.

Genya comes up beside her, holds her hair, gently strokes her back, and when she’s finished, hands her a glass of water, which Alina uses to rinse out her mouth.

The Tailor’s voice is soothing. “Hmm, let me take a look,” she croons, and Alina feels her friend's hands running over her temples, her skin, and finally, her abdomen.

Genya’s eyes widen. Then she smirks. “Oh, I didn’t realize. I'm sure Nikolai will be pleased.”

“About what? The fact that I just threw up a perfectly good breakfast?” It’s odd - now that she’s sitting up again, the nausea is gone, as suddenly as it arrived, and Alina’s just feeling annoyed about it.

“You didn’t know?” Genya looks at her curiously. “You’re pregnant, Alina.”

Pregnant? Alina looks back at Genya in shock, although the Tailor is apparently finding her distress amusing, based on the expression on her face. It shouldn’t be that surprising - after all, Alina does know where babies come from, and she’s been doing a lot of that recently.

But it’s not as if she’s ever had a real conversation about it with Nikolai - or, Saints forbid, with the Darkling. Does her husband even _want_ a child, so soon? Obviously they would need to produce an heir at some point, but this feels…

“Alina, stop. I just told you, Nikolai will be delighted.” Alina looks up to see her friend glaring at her. Sometimes she wishes Genya couldn’t read her mind quite as well as she does. “Having an heir will make your rule more stable, and everyone loves babies.”

Genya runs a hand through Alina’s hair affectionately. “I’ll ask one of the palace Healers to bring you something for the morning sickness. But you should tell him soon.”

***

The three of them are lying in bed, sated, tangled up in each others’ arms, the night _almost_ warm enough to forgo heavy blankets and a fire in the grate.Soon it will be spring, Nikolai realizes with a jolt.The anniversary of his coronation - and his marriage - fast approaches.

Alina flips over onto her back, one hand still splayed across Nikolai’s chest as the other lies on some part of the Darkling that Nikolai can’t see from over here.The way she holds her body betrays restlessness, uncertainty.He pulls her back into his arms.

“Sun Summoner,” he asks, skimming his hand down her stomach.“What is it?You look like you have something on your mind.”

The Darkling turns toward them, his hand idly running along Alina’s side.

She inhales deeply, and then finally blurts out, “I’m pregnant.”

And Nikolai’s world explodes.

Shit.Shit shit shit shit shit.

His wife is pregnant, and he has no idea whether the child is his.He knows, first-hand, what it's like to have the entire court doubt your paternity, and now he’s done absolutely nothing to shield his own child - or, at least, his wife’s child - from the same fate?

He needs to think.He knows she will think poorly of him for this, but he needs to get out of here.He pulls away from her, from the Darkling, ignoring the fact that he’s completely naked, and, in a daze, makes his way through the connecting door into his own rooms and stands, leaning against the wall, breathing hard, trying to regain some semblance of composure, so he can go back in there and face them again.

But before he can, he feels hands close around his shoulders.  He leans back into the touch, even as his mind spins.

“I asked her to give me five minutes to speak to you.She was more generous than she should have been, in my opinion.”

Nikolai doesn’t turn around.“You know the rumors about my parentage.I should have taken precautions to make sure Alina’s child doesn’t suffer the same.”

The Darkling’s hands dig into Nikolai’s shoulders, half-pain, half-relief.“We all consented to this arrangement, and we are all responsible for whatever comes of it.If the child Alina bears is mine - or if the resemblance is close enough to raise doubts - then I’ll raise the child myself at the Little Palace.”

Nikolai is tempted to laugh at the image of the Darkling carrying around a baby, but when he really thinks about it, it makes sense.Any child of his and hers is likely to be a powerful grisha, and if they can keep the child’s origins quiet, the child would escape notice in the hordes of all the other grisha children at the Little Palace.The child could grow up without scrutiny, without the pressures and fears of court life.

And if the child is clearly Nikolai’s?Then the kingdom has an heir, and his rule is secure.

The plan is crazy, even a little sick, but it makes bizarre sense.Does it make him a bad husband, a bad father, to even be considering this?

Nikolai turns around to face the Darkling, and nods.“Do you want to tell Alina?”

The Darkling shakes his head.“All I intend to tell Alina is that we are both delighted.I see no reason to worry her, without cause.”

Nikolai hates the idea of concealing something as important as this from his wife - especially one as powerful and easily angered as Alina - but the Darkling is right.  What she needs from them right now is support - and that’s what they’ll give her.

The Darkling takes Nikolai’s hand, and together they return to Alina, their Sun Summoner, to face whatever the future holds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: We are now going to be jumping ahead a little into Six of Crows/Crooked Kingdom land! I have a whole bunch of plot ideas, which means drafting will likely be slower from here on out, but as always, comments tend to encourage me to write and post faster :)
> 
> As for Alina's pregnancy: There was going to be a baby at SOME point just because we all know that both the Darkling and Nikolai will be RIDICULOUS around Alina's baby. I debated waiting until later to introduce it, but then I figured after almost a year of fooling around without the Grishaverse equivalent of contraceptives, it was probably unrealistic for it to wait TOO much longer... *sideeye*


	8. Chapter 8

_Two and a half years later…_

There’s already a chill in the air, Alina thinks grumpily as she pulls her light wool cloak tighter around her kefta. This chill won’t hit Os Alta for another week or so, but here in the mountains on Ravka’s border with Shu Han, winter is already starting to rear its head.

She looks over at the Darkling, seated tall on his (predictably) black horse, as she urges her smaller, grey mare along. There’s no snow on the ground yet, but the sky looks ready to unleash it at any moment. The Darkling catches her eye and nods, and they continue onward.

They’ve been away from the palace for three weeks, chasing after rumors and ghosts. A squad of Inferni patrolling the border who didn’t report in when they were supposed to. Their campsite left immaculate, untouched, when Alina and the Darkling reached it a week ago, sausages left out to cook, beginning to spoil. First Army officers talking about sightings of grisha with unnatural abilities. Odd scarring and changes to the earth itself.

But they’ve seen nothing so far, except for clues that make no sense. Trails that lead nowhere.

The Darkling has been close-lipped, more so than usual. They share a bedroll, and yet he always seems miles away from Alina, even when his brilliant tongue and fingers are making stars burst behind her eyes. He must have some sort of theory, but he isn’t sharing it. Not yet.

Ivan and Tolya are speaking in soft tones behind them. It would be stretch to call their relationship friendly, but given that it started with Tolya trying to kill Ivan, Alina is rather surprised by how far they’ve come, over the last few years.

If there weren’t an amorphous threat hanging over their heads, Alina would almost consider this peaceful. No sound but the crackle of fallen leaves beneath their horses’ hooves, that sense of quiet anticipation when the world waits for winter to descend.

Alina is surprised, and yet not surprised at all, when that silence is broken by the crashing of earth falling away before them. The forest path they had been traveling on is now torn apart by an enormous crevasse, blocking their way, threatening to engulf them.

She catches the Darkling’s eye as she turns her horse, looking for the source of the disturbance. His expression is determined, but she wonders if she doesn’t see a hint of fear behind it.

“Get behind me,” he growls, and she shakes her head, firmly maintaining her position at his side, as Ivan and Tolya flank them. She’s just as powerful as he is at this point - there’s no need for his ridiculous posturing.

But she can still see nothing. Sense nothing. The ground behind them is still trembling from the force of whatever split it, but there is no sign of what - or who - did violence to it.

Until she spots movement in the trees, to their left. The Darkling catches sight of it the same moment she does, and together, they lift their hands, sending waves of darkness and light into the air, mingling and honing into a single beam and hitting…

A tree.

She turns to the Darkling, and finds his expression just as puzzled as her own. But there’s little time to gape, because the next second, another gap is opening in the earth, this time to their left, sending soil and rocks and even trees tumbling into the abyss that is uncomfortably close to where they’re standing.

Suddenly, a thought occurs to Alina, and she leans over to tell the Darkling, “They’re not trying to kill us. If they were, one of those chasms would have opened right at our feet and dropped us in. They’re trying to herd us, capture us alive.”

He nods, tight-lipped. Perhaps he was already thinking along the same lines. Then he responds, “I don’t know how, but I think there are grisha controlling this. If we can find them, and kill them, then we can put an end to this.”

She sends out beams of light, searching for life around them, stretches out her awareness of her surroundings and…there. In the same direction they had seen movement in before. Without waiting for it to change position, she Cuts, and the tree the figure had vanished into comes crashing down - and behind it, a body falls, Cut in two.

But she doesn’t have time to think any more about this first target, because the earth is shaking again, and at the same time, she hears a voice inside her head: _Freeze_.

And every limb stops, yearning to listen to the voice. It’s so soothing, so comforting, it knows what’s best for her. She can distantly hear the horse beneath her whinny, confused at the sudden lack of guidance from its mistress. But she doesn’t care. If this voice wants her to freeze, then she’ll…

A tendril of shadow wraps around her wrist and a different voice is shouting _Don’t listen to it!_ And she can’t tell if this new voice is inside her head or speaking out loud. But she doesn’t care. She doesn’t want to disobey the first voice. It’s only when another Cut tears through the forest and fells another giant evergreen that she becomes aware of her surroundings again.

The Darkling has managed to pull her down from her horse, and he has her head between his hands, and he’s murmuring something in her ear. “Come back to me, Alina, come back to me,” she finally realizes.

The haze she had fallen under slowly fades, as she feels the Darkling stroking her hair, dropping gentle kisses onto her face, whispering to her.And when she finally regains full consciousness she’s left wondering, “What the hell just happened?”

She sits up, and he lets go of her head, but grabs her hand instead.When she looks at him, his expression is intense.He looks ready to murder a whole lot more people, if necessary.

Their horses are a few paces away, waiting patiently, and she thinks idly that it’s fortunate that Nikolai has put so much effort into having well-trained horses available for these kinds of forays, since the horses have barely moved.

Then she notices that Ivan is holding Tolya’s head in his lap, much like the Darkling had hers until a moment ago.

None of this makes any sense.

The Darkling strokes the back of her hand, although she’s not certain whether it’s for her benefit or his. “We were attacked.”

“I can see that,” Alina snaps.

The Darkling doesn’t respond immediately - he’s used to her short temper. He looks away for a while, and she doesn’t interrupt. He’ll respond when he’s ready.

Finally, he turns back to her. “They were grisha,” he says slowly, “but with powers I’ve never seen before. One of them was able to make the earth shake and move. One was able to walk through solid objects.” He pauses. “And one was able to take control of your mind, and Tolya’s.”

Alina freezes again, this time not out of any compulsion, but out of fear. Of all the terrifying things the Darkling has ever done, mind control has never been one she’s even considered.

Then a thought occurs to her.“Why didn’t it affect you and Ivan?”

He studies Tolya and Ivan, then replies, “I have no idea.Perhaps the grisha wasn’t strong enough to affect all of us at once.Perhaps it has something to do with your theory, that they were trying to capture us alive - perhaps only you and Tolya were targeted.”

None of those explanations make much sense, but then, nothing about this situation makes any sense.

Finally, the Darkling stands and holds his hand out to her. “Let’s take a look around, and see if we can find any clues. After that, I think it’s time to head home and tell your husband what we've discovered.”

***

“Mama!” A tiny ball of energy capped off with a shock of blond hair and a pair of excessively large blue eyes comes barreling into Alina the moment she enters the family wing of the palace. An amused Nikolai follows a few steps behind, and carefully moves around their son to step in and give her a polite kiss.

Sometimes, Alina has to laugh. No matter how much the gossips might want to cast doubt on his parentage, there’s no doubt that Misha is Nikolai’s. No one could mistake those looks and that constant energy for anyone else’s.

“How was the trip, darling?” Nikolai’s voice is light, but there’s a question in his eyes. He wasn’t wild about the idea of them going in the first place, without more backup, and their current, rather bedraggled appearance can’t be encouraging his confidence much.

Alina lowers her voice. “We’ll discuss it later.”

Nikolai raises an eyebrow, but nods.

Meanwhile, Misha has found another target. “Uncle Sasha!” he shouts, now clinging to the Darkling’s legs like an oversized leech.

The Darkling gives Misha one of his rare smiles and pats his head. “Have you been practicing, little grisha?”

Misha nods solemnly, screws his face up, and, with what looks like an enormous amount of effort for such a small child, summons a tiny breeze that just barely ruffles the Darkling’s kefta. “Good?” he asks, his expression heartbreakingly hopeful.

The Darkling scoops Misha up in his arms and ruffles his hair. “Excellent work, grishling. I judge that you’ll be ready to train at the Little Palace in no time.”

Mishra grins proudly, and Alina feels her heart fill at the sight of the two of them like this. Who knew that the Darkling would take so immediately and so strongly to Nikolai’s child? And yet, there’s a certain logic to it. With the abilities he’s already demonstrating now, even as a toddler, Misha will clearly grow to be a powerful Etherealnik. Someday, he will not only be a prince, but also a valuable addition to the Second Army.

Alina takes Misha from the Darkling, and thanks the saints he’s still small enough that she can heft him without too much difficulty. “Alright little Squaller,” she says into the top of his head, “I think it’s time to put you to bed.”

***

Nikolai tries not to show how disturbed he is by Alina and the Darkling’s report. He’s silent, sitting behind his desk, with his hands running up and down Alina’s arm as she sits on his lap, and the Darkling perched on the wooden top of the desk, close to them. They talk in turns, or both try to speak at once, or they’re silent for a while, but each detail they share makes him that much more uneasy.

Grisha who can tear holes in the earth?Vanish into thin air?Control minds?And this couldn’t have been a random attack.They must have been working for someone - but who?Was this the latest work of the Shu scientists?Or someone else entirely?

And he has his own unsettling tales to tell, too.He’s been getting more and more worrying reports from the northern border, of Fjerdan troop movements and rumors and glimpses of strange war machines rumbling through the Fjerdan taiga.

Finally, Nikolai sighs.There’s no point in hashing this out anymore tonight.Alina’s eyes are drooping, and he can feel her relax more and more into his arms as their discussion winds on.  And although the Darkling looks as impassive as ever, Nikolai would be surprised if he’s not just as tired as Alina is.

Standing up, with Alina still cradled in his arms, Nikolai drops a hand briefly on the Darkling’s shoulder, murmuring, “Shall we?” before carrying his sleepy wife toward their bedroom.

***

She’s running through the streets of Cofton, the simple skirt she’d hoped would help her blend in swinging uselessly around her ankles as she desperately cries out, “Mal!” 

No one helps her, and yet the streets are somehow full of people, much more crowded than they had been in reality, some distant part of her brain recognizes, and all of these faceless people are blocking her way forward, forcing her to push her way through each person, slowly wading through the crowd.

At some point, she becomes aware that her objective has changed.She is no longer searching for Mal.She is running.Running from someone.

The scene shifts. In the dream logic, she doesn’t question it. She’s now back in the tiny, dank room she had shared with Mal in the boarding house, and she’s no longer running. She’s been found.

The Darkling sits in front of her again, dangling one of her gold hairpins they had left behind like so many breadcrumbs, smirking at her; but unlike when this had happened in real life, Mal is nowhere to be seen, and there’s no one but herself and the Darkling.

The nichevo’ya approaches, and all she can hear is the sound of her own screaming.

She wakes, bathed in sweat, trembling. She knows who lies a few inches away from her, and it’s as if the years have dissolved away into nothing - he’s her abductor again, her hated pursuer. She has to get away, she can’t breathe, she can’t think. She stumbles through the door into her sitting room, and collapses into one of the armchairs, folding her arms around her as if that will keep the darkness at bay.

It’s not long, of course, before she feels him approach. He doesn’t try to touch her, and it’s a while before he finally asks, “Was it the Fold?”

“No.” Would that have been better, or worse? “Novyi Zem.”

“Ah.” She can hear him take a step closer to where she sits, and she turns away. Despite the distance they’ve covered, despite what’s changed between them, she feels desperately alone right now. All she wants is Mal, to ground her, to make her feel like a child again, safe in the ordered world of Keramzin.

She feels the Darkling’s cool fingers on her chin, tilting her face up towards his. She doesn’t fight him.  His eyes are cold steel, focused only on her.It makes her shiver, despite herself.

“You don’t know how it felt to finally see you again, solnishka. After weeks of not knowing whether we could ever find you, to have you in front of me at last…”

She jerks out of his grasp.  “To make one of your nichevo’ya bite me, you mean?”

He continues talking, ignoring her comment, his voice growing hoarser as he goes on. “When we had you on board that ship, saints, Alina, I wanted so badly to have Ivan bring you up to my cabin. To show you how you belonged to me.”

She feels her body heat up at his words, even as she wants to resist him. Whatever her rational brain tells her, part of her has always thrilled at the knowledge that he wants her so badly.

“Oh, Alina,” he breathes, his penchant for being able to read her thoughts bordering on uncanny, "I would have set this whole palace on fire, torn down every stone, if it meant I could have you.”

She tries to make her voice come out hard, unyielding. “I would have hated you for that.”

His hand returns to her face, and trails down her cheek.“You would have come around eventually.”

Perhaps he’s confident of that, but she isn’t. She twists her head around so she doesn’t have to look at him.She can’t stand the hunger in his eyes right now.

They’ve never really discussed what had happened between them, before they settled into this half-comfortable life at the palace. They’ve never addressed the demons and ghosts that still occupy the space between them. Part of her has never really forgiven him for dragging her away from Mal, from the life they could have had together in exile, and she’s not sure it ever will.

“Alina.” His voice whispers across her skin. “What he was offering you was nothing but a half-life. You were already wasting away when I found you. You know what you wish for was nothing but a chimera. He never could have been your equal, your balance, the way we can.”

She looks at him sharply at the word “we.” Yes, they’ve certainly become a team in the last three years - and a formidable one, at that - but she never thought the Darkling saw Nikolai as their equal. When did that change?

Her mind goes back to those days she and Mal spent in Cofton, now shrouded in mist, as if it had been centuries, rather than years, before. Had she been...happy? Truly? She had been hopeful, certainly, but was that the same thing as happiness? If they had made it into the countryside, set up their own little homestead, would that have given her fulfillment? Would having children with him have filled the ache suppressing her powers had created in her? Or was the Darkling right? Had he, in his own, twisted way, saved her from a miserable non-existence?

She sighs. It’s a question she’s considered before, and she’s not going to answer it tonight. She allows the Darkling to take her hand and bring her back to bed.

***

Nikolai wakes when Alina cries out, when she gets out of bed and retreats to the sitting room, but he lets the Darkling go to her without trying to intervene. 

They have something between them that he has no part in, the trauma that they share in these nightmares - often inflicted on one another - is alien to him. He tries not to let himself feel left out of this part of their lives, and it’s an odd thing anyways, to be jealous of missing out on a matching scar.

It’s a long time before they come back to bed, hand in hand, and when they do, Nikolai pretends to be asleep. He doesn’t need to seem pathetic, on top of everything else.

But then Alina curls up against him, and her soft little hand runs down his arm, and her lips press against his cheek, and it’s alright that she has something he can’t share with her, because they have this.


	9. Chapter 9

“Fuck!”

Nikolai slams his hand down on his spacious desk, rage and frustration flowing through him strongly enough to demand immediate release, now that he’s finally alone.

It shouldn’t have happened this way. It was supposed to be a standard royal visit. Arrive in the carriage, stand in the town square for a few minutes, wave, smile, get back in the carriage and head to the next town. A quick and painless way to keep up appearances and keep the populace happy.

None of them were prepared for the hostility they met with in that small town a few hours’ ride outside of Os Alta.

The one saving grace was that they hadn’t brought Misha along with them. The Darkling had wanted to spend some time teaching him a new way to increase his Summoning range, and thankfully, his parents had agreed.

But the Darkling’s absence also meant they had fewer options when it came to containing the situation.

Nikolai can hear it now: the roaring of the crowd, calling for violence, calling for their heads. He can see the masses of sweaty bodies as they surged toward the carriage; the futile movements of the guards raising their swords and rifles as they tried to fend off the rioting townspeople.

He can see their three Heartrenders - Ivan, Tolya, and Tamar, a combination that three years ago he never would have imagined working so seamlessly together - raising their hands, causing attackers to stop in their tracks and crumple sickeningly to the ground. Maybe dead, maybe just in a dead faint - Nikolai didn’t ask.

He can hear the crack of the rifles as the guards managed to load, firing into the crowd. He can see more bodies falling in the square, blood running down in streams.

Nikolai also knows there would have been much more bloodshed, had his wife not been ready. Seconds after the first shots went off, Alina Summoned a blinding flash that momentarily stunned the crowd and allowed the royal couple to make a quick getaway, the guards following and clearing the way through the crowd for their carriage to escape.

This is the first time he’s had to fire on his own people. It turns his stomach; it feels like he’s watching himself in the mirror as he slowly becomes his father, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

He knows the harvest was poor this year, and now, in December, stores are already running low. He knows that support for Vasily’s rebellion never really died down, even after Vasily himself, along with his strongest supporters, disappeared. But this? A riot that can only be put down with a show of force? This is bad.

He’s so distracted, he doesn’t notice the Darkling has entered until he feels a hand run through his hair. It’s a gesture he’s gotten used to over the years, somewhere between affectionate and possessive; a way the grisha has of making himself known without resorting to the pedestrian means of actually announcing his presence. No, Nikolai chuffs to himself, that would be altogether too ordinary for the Darkling.

“I assume you’ve already heard about what happened in Zlynka this afternoon?”

The Darkling takes a moment to respond. His hand lazily makes its way down Nikolai’s cheek, and the young king leans into it; there’s no sense in denying his reaction to the grisha, more than three years into their arrangement.

“I regret that I wasn’t there to deal with the situation myself.”

Nikolai tries to ignore the chill - or the thrill? - that runs through him at the Darkling’s words. No, he wouldn’t have wanted his bloodthirsty lover to have made an example of the entire town - would he?

“Alina’s response was effective, at least in the moment. Although I daresay we’ll have to find a more lasting solution soon.”

The Darkling’s hand eases down Nikolai’s throat, fingers running across his collarbone and awakening all sorts of inconvenient reactions. The king stifles a contented groan.

“What sort of solution are you considering?”

Nikolai sighs and buries his head in his hands. The Darkling’s hand wanders across his shoulder. “The kind of solution Alina won’t like,” he mutters.

The Darkling chuckles. “Ah, yes. Retribution against civilians, innocent or not, has never been something she especially enjoys.”

He falls silent for a moment, and although Nikolai can’t see his face, he imagines the Darkling is considering something. “Do you think your brother is involved in this?” he finally asks.

Nikolai grimaces. Exactly the question he spent the whole ride back to the palace trying to answer. Does Vasily have enough tentacles spread through Ravka to pull this off? Do people actually support him - or at least, hate Nikolai - enough to follow his lead?

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I think we need to know more about what Vasily’s up to in Fjerda, before we can determine that.”

He looks up, and sees a wolfish grin appear on the Darkling’s face. It’s moments like these that he’s reminded of how glad he is that the Darkling is on his side. “I think it’s time we paid a visit to our ambassador up at the Ice Court. See how things are going with our dear friends the Fjerdans.”

“Agreed,” Nikolai manages to spit out, before the Darkling’s lips descend on his own, and he is certain that neither of them will get any more work done tonight.

***

At this point, things among them are so routine that Alina only feels a tinge of annoyance when she walks into her husband’s office to find him shoved against the desk, the Darkling’s hands in his hair and his lips sucking loudly on the king’s neck.

“You couldn’t have waited for me?” she quips, shutting the door behind her. “I told you I’d be there as soon as I put Misha to bed.”

“Darling,” Nikolai chuckles, grabbing her hand and pulling her between his legs as the Darkling stops only long enough to make room for her, before refocusing his attentions on her lips, “we all know that Misha’s bedtime is far from an exact science. You could have been in there for hours.”

“Impatient men,” she grumbles, as the Darkling’s lips start to make their way down her throat, and Nikolai’s hands brush over her chest, teasing at her nipples before moving back down to her hips.

And, fuck, if this doesn’t feel good, being sandwiched between the two of them, their arms protecting her from everything that’s trying to tear them apart.

But she came in here looking for something else.

It’s been haunting her all afternoon: that feeling of utter helplessness that set in, as soon as the crowd began to surge forward, before she managed to shake some sense back into herself and Summon.

And she needs to destroy it. She needs to shake that awful feeling of weakness so she can feel strong again. She needs to feel in charge again.

She seizes control of the kiss, shoving the Darkling back toward the bedroom door. His eyes widen, but he complies, clearly curious to see where this will lead.

When he’s halfway into the room, she sets about stripping him. Thankfully he no longer bothers with his kefta most of the time when they’re in the king’s suite - she hates having to stop and unbutton all those tiny catches, especially knowing that he would not be pleased if she simply tore the garment off him and damaged it. But it still takes her a moment to pull off his shirt, as he helpfully bends down to remove his boots.

The moment he’s standing there, in all his naked glory, Alina shoves him down on the bed and snaps at Nikolai, “Help me tie him down.”

She studies him as Nikolai follows her order, wondering if he’ll resist this. They’ve tied Nikolai down before, and he’s certainly enjoyed the game then, but is he willing to be on the receiving end?

As Nikolai goes to retrieve the ropes, the Darkling pulls her down into a searing kiss. Then, as he releases her, he murmurs, “Saints, you drive me mad, solnishka.” She grins at him and grabs his right arm, just as Nikolai begins to tie down his left.

When the Darkling is entirely secured to the bedposts, immobile, he remarks, “The two of you are wearing entirely too much clothing.”

“You’re not in charge tonight, Sasha,” she snaps back. Then she turns to Nikolai and, holding out the silk scarf they’ve used on him before, says, “Blindfold him.”

It’s such an appealing sight, Alina wonders why they’ve never done this before. This proud, powerful grisha tied up, blindfolded, and entirely at their mercy. Suddenly, she feels too hot in her dress.

“Are you two going to do something about the fact that you’ve tied me up,” the Darkling asks, his voice laced with a hint of fake annoyance, “or are you just going to leave me here all night?”

Alina chuckles. “We’re considering it. Especially if you can’t shut up.” She exchanges a glance with Nikolai, who’s positively smirking. He clearly enjoys this game, too. “I would gag you, too, but I think I have a better use for that mouth of yours.”

It doesn’t take long for Alina and her husband to shed their remaining clothing, and soon she’s positioning herself over the Darkling’s face, while Nikolai’s already inserting a slicked-up finger inside the Darkling’s ass.

“Fuck,” the grisha moans from below her, “I can smell you from here, Alina.”

She leans forward a little, and his tongue is on her, just as Nikolai shoves inside the Darkling, letting out a long moan as he does. They don’t do this often - more times than not, it’s the Darkling taking Nikolai - but from the men’s reactions, clearly they’re both enjoying it tonight.

As she rocks back and forth over his mouth, his tongue sending her higher, she can feel the ropes growing taut and then loose again as he strains against them, probably without even realizing he’s doing it.

She can feel herself getting close, each stroke of his tongue, each suck of his lips pushing her toward release - but she doesn’t want to come this way. She wants to take full advantage of the situation before any of them are allowed release. So she pulls away from the Darkling, his tongue chasing her until she’s out of reach. As she does, she commands Nikolai, “Pull out of him, Kolya. I want you to come in his mouth.”

Nikolai groans as he pulls out and she stands to trade places with him. As he moves to the other end of the bed, he grabs her and drags her into his lap, promising in her ear, “Don’t you dare think he’s going to be only one to come in you tonight.” His fingers slide down to tease her clit, reinforcing his words.

“Fuck, Nikolai,” she breathes in response, ready for this to be a long night, indeed.

Then she straddles the Darkling’s firm thighs, running her hands up their hard, pale lengths. And as Nikolai slides his cock into the Darkling’s mouth, the grisha thrusts into Alina, filling her up.

But she’s not going to let him take control, even for a few seconds. Steadying her hands on his chest, she rides him, hard and fast, as Nikolai’s lips find hers, little moans escaping them every time the Darkling’s tongue does something especially clever.

“The only problem with having him fucking tied up,” Nikolai groans between kisses, “is we don’t have use of his hands.” Keeping one hand on the bed to balance himself, he moves his other hand to Alina’s clit, and saints, it’s all Alina can do to not lose herself entirely, especially when Nikolai’s tongue moves to suckle at a breast. The three of them, moving in such perfect rhythm together, is enough to send her tumbling over the edge, her walls pulsing around the Darkling’s cock as she slams headlong into pleasure.

It doesn’t take long for her two lovers to follow her, their bodies convulsing as the Darkling comes inside her, and Nikolai’s cum spurts into the Darkling’s waiting mouth.

She and Nikolai don’t immediately untie the Darkling, and he doesn’t demand that they do. It’s enough for the two of them to tuck themselves against him, their breathing evening out as they recover from their first round of love-making. Her lips find the Darkling’s again, eager to taste both herself and Nikolai on them, desperately needing that connection to ground her.

“Fuck,” Nikolai chuckles, his head resting comfortably on the Darkling’s chest, “if it takes an assassination attempt to make that happen, I almost don’t mind.”

The Darkling responds with a growl, “If I kill every fucking _ot'kazatsya_ in Ravka, you’re still welcome to tie me up, I promise. But I am not letting anyone get close to either of you again.”

Alina hums. She’s too sated and sex-happy to protest much against the Darkling’s violent promise. “It would be rather inconvenient if Ravka’s monarchs aren’t permitted to see anyone. Would make ruling the country difficult.”

“And it would certainly make court events challenging,” Nikolai adds with a laugh, “although I’m not convinced either of you would really mind that.”

The Darkling doesn’t have time to answer, because Nikolai’s mouth is on his again, with the promise of more to come.

***

The Darkling has only been in the Ice Court once before, but the degree to which the palace has changed in the intervening few centuries makes him immediately uncomfortable. The Ravkan royal palace has been renovated several times, of course, since the Darkling first arrived, but the basic structure and design has never been fundamentally altered.

The Ice Court is an entirely different matter.

At the last _Hringkälla_ celebration he attended, in a period when the _drüskelle_ had been growing bold and ambitious enough to plan raids across the Ravkan border, the palace above Djerholm had been dark and crumbling, its passages warren-like and dripping with dampness seeping in from the outside.

He remembers that celebration distinctly - he had arrived in disguise, Summoning just a little to keep himself unnoticed, and pretending to be a simple party-goer until he had the commander of the _drüskelle_ in his sights.

He smiles a little at the memory. It had been a good night. The Fjerdans hadn’t tried anything for a long time after that.

But there is a fundamental change he can feel in the Ice Court now. It’s unsettling to see the flawless glass walls, clearly Fabrikator work, in a country that hates and persecutes grisha. And everywhere he looks, perfect order, where once there was carelessness and disorder. Intentional displays of power that suggest ambitions far beyond the borders of this icy, barren kingdom. He has the distinct feeling that affairs with Fjerda will be coming to a head quite soon, and when they do, it won’t be pleasant for Ravka.

He’s walking a few paces behind Nikolai and Alina, following in their entourage as they cross the Glass Bridge to the White Island and into the inner sanctum of this disturbing place. The Darkling lengthens his strides to draw even with Nikolai and remarks quietly, “Be careful, once we get inside. I don’t like the feeling I’m getting from this place.”

Nikolai chuckles softly. “The Darkling, Commander of the Second Army, most powerful grisha in the world aside from our lovely Sun Summoner, is scared of a few Fjerdans?”

The Darkling is not in the mood for Nikolai’s jesting. “I’ve lived far longer than you, Your Majesty,” he growls. “I know when to trust my instincts.”

Nikolai takes the Darkling’s hand in his own, discreetly enough that passersby would be unlikely to see, and squeezes it gently. “It’s alright, Sasha. I don’t plan to let my guard down tonight.”

It’s enough. Nikolai might be jokingly dismissive, but he’s not an idiot. The Darkling returns to his place in the procession.

When they reach the White Island itself, Alina and Nikolai each take a flute of champagne offered by a servant. The Darkling doesn’t; he intends to stay completely alert the entire time they’re here. He follows the royal couple as they make their way gradually through the crowds, never stooping to begin a conversation - no, that would be too low for monarchs - but responding politely whenever someone approaches them. Not for the first time, the Darkling appreciates that, as much as he once longed for power, his position behind the throne is far superior to actually occupying it.

The ballroom is packed with people decked out in their countries’ finest attire, and the overall sight is dazzling. But, the Darkling observes, many of the guests are already beginning to shine with sweat, the overall smell growing riper by the minute. He feels a tinge of satisfaction - the scene may look lovely from afar, but it’s not especially nice up close. A fitting metaphor for their dealings with the Fjerdans in general.

He’s starting to relax a little when he spots something entirely out of place. Or, rather, someone. When she moves away from the person she had been speaking to, he grabs Alina’s elbow and mutters in her ear, “Look at that woman over there, in the red dress. Do you recognize her?”

Alina blinks, and focuses on where the Darkling is looking. Then he sees her eyes widen. “That’s Nina Zenik! But I thought she was on assignment on the Shu border?”

The Darkling shakes his head. “That was the cover story we gave. She was part of Zoya’s squad. Captured by _drüskelle_ on the Wandering Isle.”

Alina looks at him sharply. “The _drüskelle_ are not exactly known for their kindness toward grisha. What’s she doing here?” She doesn’t add “alive,” although it’s clearly implied.

He studies the young Heartrender for a moment. Then she moves to talk to someone, and when he recognizes the man, he doesn’t know whether to be amused or deeply concerned. “Apparently, flirting with Jarl Brum.”

“Jarl Brum?” Alina’s voice is low, but clearly worried. “As in, the commander of the _drüskelle_? For Saints’ sake, what does she think she’s doing?”

They watch as discreetly as they can - whatever Nina is doing, they certainly don’t want to be responsible for drawing any additional attention to her - as the Heartrender sidles closer to the ruthless witchhunter, a seductive smile on her lips, her hand sliding onto his arm…

And then they’re gone, disappeared into the crowd.

Her brow creased, Alina asks, “Should we follow them?”

The Darkling’s about to answer when Nikolai steps up behind them and quietly announces, “Excuse me for interrupting, but my useless excuse for a brother is on the other side of the ballroom.”

***

By the time the Ravkan delegation has safely reached their ship and gotten underway, the evening has unraveled into utter chaos. Not that Nikolai has a problem with disorder most of the time, of course, but this was a bit over-the-top.

He’s mostly angry that they lost Vasily in the crowd, right before whatever the fuck went down with Brum…went down. Nothing about that entire situation made sense - the Heartrender who had been presumed dead; the Shu boy appearing from the Treasury; the explosion that blew up the Sacred Ash. Were all of them working together, or was it just coincidence that all of that happened at nearly the same time?

If they were working as part of a single team, their style is clearly maximum destruction and chaos, and Nikolai finds himself curious to learn more about these kids.

The lockdown that their ruckus caused, Nikolai was less fond of.

The protectiveness he feels toward Alina and the Darkling is utterly illogical, he is fully willing to acknowledge. Both of them can take care of themselves, probably better than he can, and yet, the idea of the world’s most recognizable grisha being trapped within the heart of the _drüskelle_ order turns his stomach. The moment he realized the tolling bells indicated that they would be trapped in the Ice Court for some indefinite period of time, Nikolai began searching desperately for some escape. For some way out.

It was Tamar who decided, thinking fast on her feet, to immobilize the guards on the bridge and get their delegation across that way, the Heartrenders sending men sprawling as their group raced across the bridge to the outer sections of the Ice Court. Once they had reached the Ravkan Embassy, Nikolai felt like they could breathe for a little while, although every footstep, in his mind, was a squad of _drüskelle_ sent to take his lovers away, to torture and kill them.

By the time the gates opened again and they were allowed out into Djerholm to make their way down to their ship, it was clear that something big and violent had happened at the docks. Something that involved bodies strewn about, blood spilled that hadn’t yet been cleaned up. They looked away as they boarded their own vessel.

When the ship has finally made its way out of the harbor, and the lights of Djerholm are only a spot, off toward the stern of the ship, Alina approaches Nikolai at the rail.

Nikolai’s fingers grip the rail tightly. “My fucking bastard brother is up there laughing at us right now.”

Her response is quiet. “I have reason to be angry with him too, you know.”

He nods. Of course he knows. Not a day doesn’t go by, even three and half years later, that he doesn’t think of it. That he doesn’t remember the sight of her crumpled on the ground, sobbing, after they finally got her back. She has as much reason to want revenge as he does.

Her small hand comes up to touch his upper arm, and he pulls her close to him. He needs this now, and he senses she does, too.

But Nikolai only really relaxes when he feels the Darkling’s arm settle onto his, enveloping Alina’s other side. The three of them look back towards the dark cliffs that hosted so much intrigue and destruction only a little while ago.

The Darkling is the first to break the silence. “When we get back to West Ravka, I’m sending a message to Zoya. I want to know if she knows anything about the Zenik girl.”

Nikolai nods. “Someone knows something about what happened tonight. Perhaps by the time we get back, my agents will have dug something up.”

But he’s not especially optimistic. There are too many layers of secrecy surrounding whatever’s going on in Fjerda right now, and he doesn’t have people at high enough levels to crack them.

“I think it has something to do with that Shu boy.” Alina sounds thoughtful. “He wasn’t dressed like a party guest, and he came out of the Treasury as if they were keeping him there. I wonder if this wasn’t an extraction operation.”

Nikolai considers this. The boy looked young; why would anyone go to so much trouble to rescue a kid? But it’s an interesting angle. “I’ll have my agents look into it.”

He takes one final look at the lights of the court as they fade from view, that bizarre clifftop palace winking out of sight, and feels his resolve strengthen. Vasily and the Fjerdans he’s working with have threatened his lovers more than once - and, depending who was behind the attack in the village, perhaps more. He may not be able to do anything about it now, but, however long it takes him, he will take them down.


End file.
